


The Case of the Missing Alcohol Barrels

by MiniMangoes



Series: The Captain's Journal [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Alcohol theft is serious business, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt and comfort, Pirates, by that i mean hunkle and the fish incident, everyone's up to no good, mentions of canonical pseudo-death, neither is the alcohol council, no beta we die like raleigh, probably because their rum is gone, the pirate council is not pleased
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25389343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniMangoes/pseuds/MiniMangoes
Summary: Who knew five barrels of rum would lead to this?
Relationships: Original Character(s) & Original Character(s)
Series: The Captain's Journal [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838770
Comments: 23
Kudos: 5





	1. Day 0 - Prologue

_Moira (Trelian? Moira? I don’t know at this point, and I’m too afraid to ask) told me that I should start keeping a journal as a way to try to remember anything useful from my past. Joke’s on her, I’m using it as a way to be useful in the present. A present from the present, for we all know that where there is alcohol, the Captain’s probably nearby._

“It would quite behoove you to understand that, Master Hunkle, as we do operate under a fair and just society, we assume that all suspects are considered innocent until proven guilty,” a croaky voice called out. Hunkle, perched on a barrel of salted pork, rolled their eyes, but stopped moving their quill. In their hands was a small journal, bound in red leather and clearly well used, with a list of names written in a neat column on the open page. Dinkleshire, dressed in his usual blue coat, peered over Hunkle’s shoulder. “Although I agree that writing in code is quite a brilliant idea, lest others tamper with our evidence.”

“It’s not my fault Earthlings use a different script,” muttered the changeling, as they resumed writing. “And you have no evidence I am being biased against the Captain.” _I am writing in my native Torilean script, because Earth letters are stupid, but for the record I swear that no one is aware of our project except for me, Dinkleshire, Zoe and Jimmi._ Hunkle paused and looked up. “What do you think, Zoe?”

“Well I think Dinkleshire is right, in a way. I’d blame the Captain first too, but lately she’s only drinking seven times a day instead of ten, and even with her levels of drinking I don’t think she can drink five barrels of rum in a night,” said Zoe. The siren leaned back on a bag of dried peas. “What I don’t understand is, why are we having our meeting in the food storage?”

“Because it’s fucking secure, that’s why!” grumbled Jimmi Hendrix, the ship’s cook. His normal grimace was replaced by an outright sneer; one could easily imagine small wisps of steam escaping through his tensed ears. “I ain’t stepping outside this room if my life depended on it. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Look what happened last time! I wake up, go cook breakfast, look at the stash, and five fucking barrels of rum are gone! Five barrels! Do you know how much that will fuck up our rations? The Captain is going to have my fucking head, if the rest of the crew doesn’t stage a mutiny first. All because one of them,” he yells, pointing at the red journal, “decided to fuck off with five barrels of rum. Five barrels! That’s like a fortnight’s worth of rum!”

“Not if the Captain’s drinking,” said Hunkle snarkily. “And stop pointing, did anyone teach you manners?”

“You stabbed my fish and then died, don’t lecture me on manners, Kid!”

Before the two could descend into squabbling, Dinkleshire let out a loud cough. “If I may say so myself, I do not believe manners are anyone’s strong suit on this ship,” he said as he scanned around the crowded room, “and if we were to be any louder, we would alert the Captain, Simon, and Neil, and I believe that would result in a difficult position for all of us. Now,” he nodded to Hunkle, “could Master Hunkle please give us a summary of the case and our suspects?”

_The Case of the Missing Alcohol Barrels_

_Goal:_ _find out what happened to the five missing alcohol barrels (rum, worth roughly 300 gold pieces in total) before anyone finds out._

_Suspects so far_

  * _**Captain Moira (biggest alcoholic on this ship)**_


  * _Jonathon Chelsea (seems like he drinks)_


  * _Jimmi Hendrix (who is noted to be severely offended by being on this list)_


  * _Arthur (also an alcoholic)_


  * _Simon (drinks when thinking of Ophelia)_


  * _Neil???? (Would be pissed if he found out rum is gone)_


  * _Darra??? (Likes to drink while repairing the ship)_



“What do you think will happen if we don’t find the alcohol?” Hunkle wondered aloud. “Will we get a pay deduction?”  
  
“We’ll be lucky if we end up with just a pay deduction,” Zoe responded, “and not turned into mutiny sashimi.”


	2. Day 0.5 - Jimmi Hendrix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cook gets grilled.

_(Witness?) Testimony: Jimmi Hendrix_

_Role: Cook_

_Location_ : _Food storage room & kitchen _

_Interrogators: Dinkleshire, Zoe, Hunkle_

“Look, I don’t know why I’m being called to testify. I told you, I’m innocent. It’s for the record? You already have a fucking record, what else do you want me to say? I wake the fuck up. I put on the fucking fire to make the day’s burgoo. I start yelling at Ossian to wait for fucking breakfast because I was late - wait a minute. I yelled at Ossian because they didn’t like hardtack porridge, and I told them to suck it up. I didn’t make any burgoo that day…. I remember now, that’s not what happened. That day was odd from the start, I tell you.”

“It all started in the morning. You know the drill, wake up and put on the fire. But I couldn’t get the fire starting for shit, for some reason. Usually it takes only a couple of minutes, since I keep some embers going, and the fire has its own enclosed space. You know, that mound over there below the pot? Usually I get the fire going, just like you see right now, and I cook burgoo for breakfast, since we voted on it last week. So I go up to the fire pit, just like always, and I see that the embers were put out! I didn’t think much of it, since it happens occasionally, and so I added some kindling and lit a match. But here’s the thing - not only did the kindling not catch on fire, but the match didn’t even light up. Believe me, I did everything I could to start that fire. Used up half my matches, poured alcohol over the fire, blew on the dead ashes. Nothing. No fire, no flame, not even a spark. You know, I even tried bringing in a lit candle from the other room. The moment I stepped in the room, the candle snuffed out. When I stepped out of the room, the candle lit up again. Fucking hell, I thought I was hallucinating there for a second.” He shakes his head. “Weird as hell, don’t you think?”

Zoe and Hunkle glanced at each other.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about the candle?,” asked Zoe. “That sounds pretty...fishy.” Hunkle rolled their eyes.

“Well I don’t know, it seemed normal at that moment, I guess. Come to think about it, I didn’t really think much about the fire at all. It just felt...right. Like that was normal.”

“And so what happened next?”

“Well, Zoe, you know the rest. I soaked some hardtack in salt water and made a cold porridge. At that moment I heard a loud yelling from beyond the kitchen door, in the forecastle, Ossian’s loud voice calling for burgoo. I went to the main chamber, yelled at them for a moment, and came back. It was time for breakfast and so I went and served it.”  
  
“And what prompted you to go to the food storage room?”   
  
“Oh, it was a comment by Neil after breakfast. He asked if we had enough rations left, since apparently the Captain wanted to stock up on supplies. Something about not having enough to drink.” He chuckled. “It’s not the first time the Captain asked about the alcohol, and so I went and checked it. And that’s when I noticed the five barrels missing.”

“Who has access to the food storage room?”  
  
“Me, mainly. And Neil and Simon and the Captain, but they usually leave it to me. I guess aside from me, probably Neil. But they always let me know, because the food storage room is next to the kitchen, and I fucking hate it when people go into the kitchen.”

“How many entrances are there to the food storage room?”  
  
“Two. One through the kitchen, and a hatch through the forecastle deck, for resupplying purposes. But that hatch is only openable through the inside, so you have to go through the kitchen in any case.”

“So,” interrupted Hunkle, “you’re saying that the alcohol was stolen because you weren’t paying attention?”  
  
Jimmi’s face turned an interesting shade of green.

“I’ll have you know, kid, that I lock that fucking door every night. I locked it last night, and the door was still locked when I came into the kitchen this morning.”

“But why couldn’t the alcohol be stolen at another time?”  
  
“Neil did a check last week, and I did another recount three days prior. Even accounting for Queen Mary’s time on board, everything was fine. And now, five barrels suddenly gone? I’m telling you, it was stolen last fucking night! The barrels were fucking stolen and I had nothing to do with it. Write that down, kid. I’m not having the entire ship coming after me for this.” 

_Forgetful and indignant. But probably innocent. Weird incident with fire??_

The storage room was quiet, interrupted only by the faint scratching of Hunkle’s quill.

Jimmi sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “Now if you could, get the fuck out of this room. I have fucking dinner to make.”


	3. Day 1 - Darra O’Malley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is fire, there is smoke. Zoe and Darra share some mead and secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not a chemist.

_Suspects so far_

  * **_Captain Moira (biggest alcoholic on this ship)_**


  * Jonathon Chelsea (seems like he drinks)


  * ~~Jimmi Hendrix (who is noted to be severely offended by being on this list)~~


  * Arthur (also an alcoholic)


  * Simon (drinks when thinking of Ophelia)


  * Neil???? (Would be pissed if he found out rum is gone)


  * Darra??? (Likes to drink while repairing the ship)



* * *

_(Suspect) Testimony: Darra O’Malley_

_Role: Boatswain_

_Location : cannon hull, workshop_

_Interrogator: Zoe_

Darra was, unsurprisingly, in her workshop. Bushy eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as she carefully poured a gray powder into a flask filled with clear liquid using steady, muscular hands. Wisps of smoke curled out of the bottle, clogging the crowded room in a haze of gray. Covering her mouth, Zoe knocked sharply on the door. “Darra? Are you busy?”

“Oh, Zoe!” Darra exclaimed, the slight upward lilt of her deep voice betraying her excitement. “Of course, come on in! Let me show you what I’ve been working on. It’s really quite exciting, I think you’ll like it.” 

“Yes, erm, that’s great, but could you first open a window?” 

"Oh yes, of course!” Darra responded, eyes wide. “Very sorry, you tend not to notice these things when you’re busy.” She carefully corked the flask and, setting it aside, opened a small porthole on the side. “Now, do come in! To what do I owe this pleasure today?”

“Is a meeting between friends not enough?” Zoe replied, smiling. “But actually, I’m here to ask a few questions.”

“Ah, so there is a reason after all!” Darra laughed. “Well, ask away! Unless it’s something I shouldn’t have done, then don’t tell me,” she added with a wink. “Did someone send you?”

 _“_ Oh,” _well, not entirely, but I guess so?_ “Yes, Jimmi did. Can we sit down and talk?”

“Why yes of course! But wait, if we are going to have a lovely chat, why not make it an occasion? I even have here,” Darra chirped, lifting a large, brown, glass bottle, “some of my famous home brew! Why, with this gorgeous thing, anyone can fix a broken cannon!” She poured the drink into a glass and offered it to Zoe. “But of course, only I know the recipe, so only I can fix the cannons.” Tilting her head towards the door, she quickly added, “Would you be a dear and close the doors? I imagine you came here for business. Best not have any wandering ears around.”

Sitting on the workshop table, Zoe took a large gulp of the drink. Honey-sweet and delightfully scorching, Darra’s mead was a secret, privy only to a select few. Zoe herself was sworn to secrecy - _but really, why would I want to share a drink this good?_ Secrecy was no difficulty - provided she could have some of the benefits, of course.

“So, dear Zoe, how can I help you? Did Jimmi do something again?”

“It’s actually not Jimmi’s fault this time around. His fire wasn’t lighting this morning, and so I was thinking that you might have a solution. You should have seen him complain this morning! You would think that the world was ending before our very eyes.”

“So that’s why we had such an awful breakfast. Hardtack porridge! You should have seen the faces of the crew, they were absolutely despondent! Although between you and me,” she leaned in, blue eyes sharp and piercing, “ I don’t think it’s just the hardtack they were upset about.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow.

“Oh you must know, you’re practically raising that child with the Captain, aren’t you privy to her concerns? Speaking of which, I’m surprised she hasn’t even noticed anything. Don’t look at me like that. You know, the frustrated grumbles of the crew below deck. It’s not fair, really, we always lack manpower during battles. You can’t expect six people to man 12 cannons! Or is Her Marauding Highness and the crew above deck too arrogant to notice?” Darra closed her eyes and ran a hand through her cropped blond hair. “No matter, I’ll propose a new battle formation during the next pirate council.” 

“I see,” said Zoe after a pause. “Well that’s not fair, is it? I’ll support you, if you end up proposing a new plan.” 

“Thank you, dear friend,” smiled Darra. She opened her eyes. “So, what is this about Jimmi?”

“Well -”

* * *

“So you’re saying that the fire didn’t start at all?” questioned Darra, chewing on her bottom lip. “And pray tell, when was this exactly?”

“Yesterday morning, probably a bit after dawn. That’s when Jimmi usually starts breakfast, I think.”

Darra furrowed her brows, lost in thought. 

“You seem to know something.” Zoe deadpanned.  
  
“Never one to mince words, I see. Yes, I think I know what’s wrong, but please -” Darra smiled warily, “it was an accident! Look.” She pointed at the glass bottle.

“I was tinkering around with some chemicals this week, as you see here. I was inspired by _that pirate,_ ” she shuddered, “who somehow didn’t catch on fire during our battle. Ships are flammable, everyone knows that. And yet, his ship failed to catch on fire even once, even after we shot all those cannons! I mulled it over for a while, fixing the broken cannon, until one day inspiration _struck!”_ she smiled, eyes bright and wild, as she pointed up into the air. “And when inspiration strikes, you _must_ do something, and so I got to work. And this is the end result here.” She nodded at Zoe. “You can touch it, of course, but please don’t uncork it - I’m not quite yet sure about all of the smoke’s effects.”

Zoe picked up the flask, slowly rotating it between her fingers. The gray powder was almost completely dissolved into the clear liquid, resulting in a flask filled with a thick, dense, gray gas. “But you do have some idea about its effects?”

“Oh yes, of course. You see, I thought that the boat’s non-flammable nature was due to some sort of chemical solution designed to withstand flame. I don’t think it’s just magic, although I heard he has some of that too. No matter, science can be just as magical! So I have been experimenting all week, mixing up grand concoctions, but as you see here,” she waved at a pile of empty bottles with undissolved mixtures and strange-colored liquids, “they haven’t been much of a success.”

“So you were experimenting last night too?”  
  
“Oh yes, of course. It was business as usual, you know, quiet experiments during my free time that make me stay up late into the night. I’ve been having a string of failures all week, but somehow I felt that yes, today is my day, that victory was within reach. Frankly, I don’t remember what exactly I was doing, but I remember that at one point, I was holding up a flask filled with white smoke and almost crying with joy and relief. Do you know how gloriously wonderful it is, when you hold up a flask and you see the chemicals change, wrought with your very hands, the chemicals dancing and twining together to create something entirely new? But I guess I was more tired than I thought, for as soon as I picked up the flask, I suddenly felt a cold chill run down my back. Next thing I know, I hear a crash, and I see my precious flask shattered on the floor. The white gask escaped, of course, but I had my door and my window open, so I assumed that all the smoke had safely dispersed. It appears that some must have flowed into the kitchen. But it’s still quite odd - I broke the flask late at night, almost at the end of the first watch. Even if there were some gas in the kitchen, there should have been plenty of time for the gas to flow out of the kitchen as well.”

Zoe tilted her head. “Well, Jimmi works long hours, and the kitchen is a closed space. Well, there are the kitchen portholes, but I’m sure Jimmi keeps them closed at night. If the kitchen door was locked right after the accident, and left locked until the following morning, it’s possible that the concentration of your substance was high enough that there was enough white smoke come morning to snuff out any fires.” Zoe nodded, satisfied. “But what about the candle re-igniting?”

“I’m not sure, Zoe dear.” Darra shrugged her shoulders. “Jimmi seems quite tired lately. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hallucinated the candle incident altogether.” She smiled thinly. “Do you have any more questions, or should I be worried about a visit from our dear officers for ‘dangerous activities’ ?”

“Well,” said Zoe as she finished off her drink, “if you give me another glass of this mead I guess I won’t tell anyone.”


	4. Day 1.5 - Arthur Fulton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware of the things that crawl in the deep.

_Suspects so far_

  * **_Captain Moira (biggest alcoholic on this ship)_**


  * Jonathon Chelsea (seems like he drinks)


  * ~~Jimmi Hendrix (who is noted to be severely offended by being on this list)~~


  * Arthur (also an alcoholic)


  * Simon (drinks when thinking of Ophelia)


  * Neil???? (Would be pissed if he found out rum is gone)
  * ~~Darra??? (Likes to drink while repairing the ship)~~ ~~~~



* * *

_(Suspect) Testimony: Arthur Fulton_

_Role: General crewmember, Alcohol Anonymous Member_

_Location : Holding hull_

_Interrogator: Hunkle_

“And then Moira, that sonofabitch, told me to stop drinking and be useful! Be fucking useful! I’m very fucking useful, thank you very much. Who else monitors the temperature on board? If it wasn’t for me, everyone here would have burned up already, goddammit,” said Arthur, gesticulating wildly, glass bottle in hand.

Hunkle adjusted their cape, shivering slightly. The holding hull was always cool, but today it seemed bordering on freezing. Straining their eyes in the darkness, they tried to make out the reclining figure of Arthur, who was sitting on a coil of rope near a small metal lantern. The lantern, which was placed between the two sitting pirates, was the only light source in the hull. Arthur preferred to keep the hull in total darkness, for unspecified security reasons; Hunkle made it a point to always bring along a lantern out of spite. It was, however, always a useless endeavor. Although glowing valiantly in a feeble attempt to light the room, the lantern’s yellow light simply served to cast dark, distorted shadows on the hull’s walls that moved in time to the flickering wick. The lantern’s oil, filled to the brim that morning, was practically empty; Hunkle hoped that Arthur would finish his rant before the oil ran out.

Soon after his arrival on ship, Arthur, former first mate of Moira and the second-worst alcoholic on board, quickly claimed the holding hull as his own, again for unspecified security reasons. It wasn’t an issue, most of the time - for all of his _(unverified, unspecified)_ concerns about security, the former first mate was an excellent seaman and an even better steward. Hunkle was pretty sure that Moira just let Arthur do what he wanted, as long as all the supplies were kept in order and the ship had enough gunpowder to win battles. _Isn’t keeping track of supplies Neil’s job, anyway?_ The Captain, in Hunkle’s opinion, was too lenient with him. _Did she suddenly forget those drunken rages where she cursed his existence?_ Hunkle shook their head. If Moira wasn’t going to be responsible, then Hunkle would. _But that’s neither here nor there._

“I don’t think it’s that hot,” answered Hunkle, slowly looking around the hull. The shadows seemed to grow longer with each passing second, warped images of boxes and rope, turning into thick twisty vines that crawled towards the ceiling and loomed high above the changeling. Hunkle closed their eyes, images of slippery tentacles flashing through their mind. “It’s cold in here.”  
  
“Of course it’s cool in here,” answered Arthur. At this point he had already finished his bottle; in his hand was instead a thick, unfinished rope, held taut between his legs. Carefully taking some cotton cord, he started to twist the cord into the rope. “Someone’s got to make this ship livable. Hell, I’ve been doing that all this week. Thanks to me the living quarters are actually fucking bearable, instead of that humid hot mess we had to deal with.” Arthur shook his head. 

“Between you and me, I think they’re tampering with our heat source. Typical, controlling things in the shadows, pulling the wool on our eyes. It’s clear.” Arthur paused, looking around carefully. After a minute, Arthur continued speaking. “Just making sure we’re not watched. Anyway, it’s clear that by messing with the heat, little by little, they’re trying to roast us alive. That causes internal damage in the brain, so we’re slower in battles and lose more. Fuck that,” Arthur spit on the ground, “they can’t keep this old sea dog blind! I know the truth. I see the truth. You guys, the crew, Moira, you don’t see the truth. But take it from me. I was blind once, and that fucking cost me. I was blind and I didn’t see the signs and what happened? Led to a mutiny with that sonofabitch. No, I’m more careful now. I see now. I ain’t no sheep.” Arthur smiled, yellowed teeth a ghostly glow in the lamplight. “They fuck with me, I fuck with them.”

Hunkle sighed internally. This conversation really needed to end soon. “So what did you do?”

Arthur failed to respond. For a while, the hull was enveloped in silence, broken occasionally by waves crashing into the ship and the creaky grind of the rope. Flailing and twirling, the rope’s dark shadow mesmerized Hunkle. The limb-like shadow almost seemed to call them, embrace them, beckoning them to draw closer into the void. A warm, familiar void, arms slithering and turning, engulfing Hunkle in power and water and slippery tentacles crawling out of their throat - 

_Do you want to start a cult?_

“They’re watching us, you know.” Arthur’s face was suddenly next to Hunkle’s, the man’s alcohol-drenched breath hitting Hunkle’s face.

Hunkle startled. “What?”, they stuttered out, caught off guard. In close proximity, Hunkle noticed a blackened mass on their skull that emitted an awful smell. “What’s on your face?”

“This bastard?” Arthur tapped his wooden arm on his temple. “This was a gift from yours truly, Miss Moira, during our last Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Couldn’t keep her damn hands to herself. I won that round, though, goddammit, sprained her ankle so hard she couldn’t walk.”  
  
_So that’s what happened_ . Moira and Arthur’s “Alcoholics Anonymous” meetings - which were really just an opportunity to skip duties and get raging drunk on the crow’s nest - became, much to the chagrin of everyone on board, a weekly occurrence. Moira always came back from these meetings with some horrible injury, a raging hangover, and an awful temper. The most recent “meeting” resulted in a swollen ankle so bad that Jonathon Chelsea ordered her to stay in the captain’s quarters _with absolutely no exceptions_ for the entire week. Hunkle doubted Moira could resist, anyways; her leg was in a splint, and she refused to move because _sonofabitch this hurts like a motherfucker, Kid could you bring me my alcohol?_ Although, if Hunkle were being honest, they were sure that Moira kicked up a fuss just so she could play cards and drink rum with a somewhat-credible excuse; _there was no way a simple sprain could be that bad, right?_

“”Don’t make that face. She got me back just as well. See?” He lifted up the lantern to his face, casting his face in a deep shadow, save for a small portion behind the light. He stared at Hunkle, mouth twisting into a grotesque smile. “Did me a real number.”

His left eye was colored green and purple, swollen and inflated, with red gashes cutting through his low-set brow bone. In the faint yellow glow of the lantern, the wound resembled an endless void, slithery limbs crawling out from his eye socket from a core of glassy obsidian. Tentacles that were crawling out, reaching towards Hunkle, reaching towards their throat - 

Hunkle pushed Arthur away suddenly, arms shaking. “Who’s watching us?”

Arthur staggered back. Staring at Hunkle, arms crossed and expression unreadable, he spoke softly. “You know, them. Look outside. We’re in the goddamn ocean, far from everything, and what do we see? Birds. Sharks. Fishes. Motherfuckers, I’ve never seen that many of’em trail us like they’re trailing us now. Don’t you think it’s odd that first a raven - which don’t belong at sea, mind you - and then all those seagulls keep trailing our ship? Or that many fish surrounding our ship. You go about your day, listening to the beautiful singing of...Zoe, I think, and next thing you know we’re fishing by the barrel. I’m telling you, they’re watching us. They see our plans and hear our voices and they’re remembering, they’re planning, they’re watching us. The fish, the birds, the sharks, they’re watching us. You have to be careful.”

 _Sharks are watching us_. Hunkle wondered, briefly, if Princess Andy knew about Moira’s pathetic sprain.

Hunkle nodded and reached into their cape. Pulling out the red journal, they opened to a black page - _darkvision sure does come in handy_ \- and took out a pencil. Arthur eyed the notebook warily, but said nothing.

“Fine, I’ll be careful. But you missed my original question - what did you do to...combat the change in temperature?”

“Oh, simple. Cold air always cools down the ship, so I’ve been opening the windows, letting in some fresh air. That way they won’t suspect a thing - they can keep the furnace running, and we won’t be roasted alive. You have to know them to beat them. You open windows, you close windows. Been doing that all week. Don’t worry, I keep’em open only during the day, so in the night, when they use their fish to spy on us, they don’t suspect a thing, at least for now.” Arthur looked to the side, eyes steeley. “We’ve been cutting it close, though. I need to come up with something else, though. They’re on to me. They’ve already fucked with the far left window. They’re fucking on to me. I need to come up with something before it’s too late.”

“The far left window? The one near Darra’s workshop?”

“Yeah. Something’s up with that window. No matter how well I close it, a draft of cold air keeps going through. Like it’s ignoring basic laws of physics or something. Mocking my efforts, taunting me that I won’t succeed in outsmarting them. Fuck that, just you wait.” Arthur shook his head. “I’m telling you, they’re behind it.”

Hunkle scribbled down a note in the journal. _Tell someone to fix the sealing on the far left window._  
  



	5. Day 2 - Jonathon Chelsea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wounds need to open before they can heal, whether that's wounds of the humors or wounds of the heart.

_Suspects so far_

  * **_Captain Moira (biggest alcoholic on this ship)_**


  * Jonathon Chelsea (seems like he drinks)


  * ~~Jimmi Hendrix (who is noted to be severely offended by being on this list)~~


  * ~~Arthur (also an alcoholic)~~


  * Simon (drinks when thinking of Ophelia)


  * Neil???? (Would be pissed if he found out rum is gone)


  * ~~Darra??? (Likes to drink while repairing the ship)~~



* * *

_(Suspect) Testimony: Jonathon Chelsea_

_Role: Surgeon_

_Location : Surgeon’s Quarters_

_Interrogator: Zoe and Hunkle_

“Well, Hunkle, it seems like your vitals are all right, but your humors seem to be a bit odd, so I would recommend being careful this week. I’d recommend bloodletting, but you seemed opposed to that, so let’s just monitor the situation and take it day by day. Make sure to let me know if you notice any changes. How does that sound?” boomed Jonathon Chelsea’s gravelly voice. The surgeon faced the siren and the changeling, smiling widely. The walls of the surgeon’s quarters were covered in rows of cabinets, each containing unlabeled jars of powders, liquids, and chunks of … something (Hunkle preferred not to think about it too much), as well as saws, tweezers, and other medical equipment of various sizes. In the middle of the room was a large table, big enough for an adult human, upon which sat Hunkle, eyes glazed in sheer boredom. Next to Hunkle sat Zoe, sitting on a nearby chair with eyebrows furrowed in concentration, who nodded and listened carefully to Jonathon’s words.

“Watch out for any irregularities and make sure the Kid doesn’t get killed until their next checkup. Can do, Doc.” With Zoe’s words, Hunkle’s eyes snapped to attention. “How many times do I have to tell you, Zoe, I didn’t die! I’m here, aren’t I? And I haven’t missed a single weekly checkup, so I’m fine. Although I still don’t understand why I have to have it every week, don’t you think that’s overkill?”

“Well, your heart _did_ stop beating for a while there, Kid. I think that counts as death. We have every right to be worried.”

“I didn’t die! And stop making it sound like you and Moira are married!”

“If I may cut in,” interrupted Jonathon. His smile still remained, but his eyes took on a clinical, calculating stare. “Why do you think you didn’t die?”

“Well,” said Hunkle awkwardly. Few people knew about their connection to the Lurker, and they weren’t particularly eager to let more people know. Jonathon must have misinterpreted their silence for something else, however, as they nodded their head. 

“Hunkle, how many hours of sleep have you been getting per night?” Hunkle and Zoe blinked in confusion. “Excuse me?”, stuttered out the changeling. 

The doctor nodded in understanding. Pulling out a thin board and a paper, Jonathon started to take notes. “When is the last time you slept?”

“I don’t see how this is relevant, doc.” 

Jonathon shook his head and looked meaningfully at Hunkle. “Do you remember the last time you slept?”

Hunkle paused, eyebrows furrowed in thought. _The last time I slept was -_ “a couple of days ago, probably? I’m not sure. I don’t get much sleep.” Jonathon hummed and continued to write. “So you don’t keep regular sleep habits, I see. And what happens when you sleep? Do you see anything?”

Hunkle let out an involuntary shudder. Jonathon raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “Well, nothing good. But I’m used to it, at this point. It doesn’t bother me too much.”  
  
“I see. Thank you for your comments, Hunkle.” He nodded, then pulled out another paper. Zoe glanced at the paper, curious as to what it said, but could only make out a long bulleted list written in blue ink. “Now, Hunkle, I will ask you some questions. I ask that you answer them to the best of your ability, but if you do not know, that is fine as well. Now -” Hunkle shifted awkwardly in their seat. “First question. Do you see a face in your dream?”

“Uh.” _Does the Lurker count as a face?_ “I guess so?”

The doctor hummed. “Does this face seem to defy basic laws of gravity and common sense?” 

Hunkle stared back at the doctor, stunned. _How does he know?_ “I guess. It’s in a dream, I can’t tell.”

The doctor nodded, looking pleased. “Final question. Does the face have bloody wounds?”

_ A bloody face? Magic powers? Sounds like -  _ “No, I don’t see a bloody face.” Jonathon hummed again, face turning into a confused frown. Hunkle quickly added, “It’s just a normal colored face, I think. I’m not sure. Maybe it’s bloody.” They paused. “Wait, how did you know to ask these questions?”

Jonathon crossed his arms, deep in thought. “You are not the first to have reported a lack of sleep. Sleeplessness in general is not uncommon - it is a problem I often treat, to great success. Usually it is something simple, such as a broken heart or a low salary. In that case, I encourage a moment of introspection in the crow’s nest and a quick session of bloodletting, and that usually solves the problem. Based on your history, I assumed that your sleeplessness was not because of the above reasons. Although,” he added with a grin and a wink, “I heard that we’re getting a pay raise soon. But you didn’t hear it from me. After all,” he waved a hand vaguely, “hearing good news is a good cure for stress and sleeplessness.”

His face became serious once more. “But in your case, I believe it is something else. You see, other patients have also recently reported an inability to sleep. These individuals all had different relationships to sleep, but yet exhibited a couple of similarities in their dreams. First, the inability to sleep was recent, all within the last week. Second, the dreams all contained a red face, powerful and terrifying, who seemed to bend the laws of physics to their will. I suspected that your dreams were also of a similar nature, but it appears that I am wrong.” Jonathon frowned. “How strange, I thought I already found a cure.”

“What cure?”, asked Hunkle, leaning forward. _There’s a cure for Princess Andy?_

“Well, I observed that crew members seem to have much better internal balance, and thus improved moods, in warmer climates. Since we are currently traveling warmer waters, I thought that perhaps the dreams were caused by a drop in temperature, which would result in a humoral imbalance. So, I have been careful to maintain high temperatures inside the ship all week in an attempt to mimic warmer climates. I believed that I was successful in finding a cure, as reports of the red face and sleeplessness disappeared soon after.” He paused. “Indeed, there is something odd about your sleeplessness. The fact that your dreams continued, even in warmer temperatures, is further evidence that your dreams are separate from the red face. We will discuss this next meeting, for I need to do more research on this topic. In any case, I am still convinced that your supposed death is tightly linked with your inability to sleep.”

Zoe looked at Jonathon, nonplussed. “How does sleep relate to the Kid almost dying, Doc? I don’t die every time I sleep.”

“As you two may know, getting enough sleep is crucial in making sure the four humors are in balance. Otherwise, our body will be confused and mix up basic body functions. In the case of Hunkle here, the lack of sleep must have disrupted the humors to such an extent that it caused your body to forget what sleep is. Succinctly put, your body must have confused sleep for death. Usually, I would recommend patients for extended periods of sleep to balance the humors, but I believe that in this case, any sleep would be fatal to the body. We don’t know what other effects sleeping will have on the body, after all, and we do not want the body to get used to treating sleep like death.”

Jonathon turned around and opened up a small box filled with index cards. Muttering quietly to himself, he parsed through the cards until, with a small happy _aha!_ , pulled out a card. Copying the contents onto another card, he said, “Clearly, we must work on repairing the humors in your body. Only then will the body be in the proper state to recognize sleep as sleep.” He handed the recipe to Hunkle’s outstretched hand.

Hunkle stared at the paper in their hand. “Um, what is this?”

“It’s garlic paste mixed with sea water, nutmeg, and hardtack. I recommend this for balancing the humors, especially yellow and black bile. When I still drank and I faced continuous internal imbalance, I used this recipe to maintain order and balance. Luckily, I have stopped drinking, and I have come to rely less on this recipe. Nonetheless, I find it to be quite helpful in restoring balance to internal forces.”

“What do you mean? I’ve seen you drink before, doc.”

“Well personally, I drink on occasion and as part of the daily ration, but I try not to drink in excess. It has helped to balance my humors tremendously.” He nodded once. “When I was still in training, alcohol was often touted as a cure for unbalanced humors. However, I realized that alcohol is an inferior medicine. Indeed, I often find that it prevents us from dealing with core issues.” He scribbled something down on a notepad. “I encourage all my patients to explore other outlets to come to find internal harmony and balance.”

“For example, look at Captain, who I have long diagnosed with an overabundance of phlegm. Her reliance on alcohol is understandable, an attempt to cure her internal imbalance. However, as you two probably have noticed as well, I do not see much progress. It appears, however, that her participation in Alcohol Anonymous has helped where alcohol could not. Her mood, for one, appears to be much more balanced. She seems to have a healthy outlet to release the excess phlegm and find balance, and I am pleased to see it.”

Hunkle and Zoe shared a look. _A better attitude? Balanced? Where?_

“I’m not sure a sprained ankle is a particularly healthy way to fix humoral problems, Doc.”

Jonathon waved his hands. “The sprain isn’t too bad. I'm sure the Captain has gone through worse. It should heal in a couple of days, I’m not concerned about that. Humoral problems are internal ones, and while I normally agree that violence is not effective in finding balance, the Captain’s humors seem to be imbalanced to such a degree that drastic measures are necessary. Much like you, Hunkle. The imbalance has fossilized itself to such a degree that it has let a scar form, preventing any sort of balance. Only by successfully breaking through this scar, no matter the method, can any progress be made. It’s just like bloodletting an infection, you see. You have to open the wound for it to properly heal.”

“Even if the wound is deep?” asked Zoe, quietly.

“Especially if the wound is deep.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room.

“Well,” said Jonathon, clapping his hands, “thank you for coming this week. I’m glad to see progress, Hunkle, and I look forward to seeing you next week. Make sure to give that recipe to Jimmi, he should know how to prepare it. You are to drink the potion three times a day, no exception, for two weeks. After you have done so, we will discuss what to do further. Hopefully, we will see progress.”

“In the meantime, don’t overexert yourself. The more tired you are, the sleepier you will become, and the more dangerous it will be. No heavy work, no prolonged exercise, no funny business. Doctor’s orders.”

* * *

The crow’s nest was, for all intents and purposes, the best place on the ship. High above the chaotic noise of the ship, the small structure, just barely fitting two individuals, was a quiet reprieve from the everyday mundane. 

It was also a great place to trade secrets, for the crow’s nest was easily out of hearing from virtually everyone, and it allowed for easy monitoring of everyone on the ship, lest there were any eavesdroppers or spies. Or, in the case of Zoe and Hunkle, anyone important who would jeopardize their investigation.

“So,” said Zoe awkwardly, racking her brain for any sort of conversation. The previous conversation still weighed heavily in her mind, and if she were being honest, it was not something she particularly wanted to dwell on at that moment. “I guess it’s not Jonathon, then.” The bard grinned stiffly, elbowing the warlock in the ribs. “That just leaves us with the biggest alcoholics on this ship. Maybe it was Moira after all. What do you say, do you want to raid the captain’s quarters after this?”

Hunkle sat, still as a statue. As soon as they reached the crow’s nest, they promptly sat down, curled themselves into a tight ball, and proceeded to ignore everything Zoe said. Not even Zoe’s attack of terrible puns - which would normally produce some sort of reaction, at the very least a chuckle - floundered. Zoe, to say the least, was very concerned. She had half a mind to dunk some sea water on the changeling’s face, if only to produce some sort of reaction, but decided against it. She would, after all, have to either carry a bucket of water up or bring an unresponsive Hunkle down, and she didn’t particularly want to do either, especially when the only access to the crow’s nest was through a rope ladder.

“Kid?” Zoe tried again. “Kid? Hunkle? I know you’re there, can you please respond back?” No response. “Well, could you at least give me the journal? I need to jot down our findings.” 

The red journal and a pencil were wordlessly handed over. _Well, that’s a start_. Zoe took the journal, throwing a worried glance towards Hunkle. Seeing no response, Zoe sighed in defeat and wrote down their latest finding.

 _Jonathon Chelsea does not drink, at least not like the others. Encouraged us to find hobbies._ Nodding, Zoe handed the journal back to Hunkle. “I can’t believe you’re making me do all the writing, Kid,” she teased. “Isn’t this a record, so you can show your family what you missed when you return home? I’m sure they miss hearing all about Moira’s alcoholic tendencies.”

Hunkle jolts in shock, face marred in a frown. _Shit_ , Zoe curses, _overexertion. Right._ Quickly, Zoe adds in a rush, “Or not! I’m sure they’d love whatever you write. I’ll take care of the rest, don’t strain yourself!” Hunkle’s frown just became deeper, much to Zoe’s internal panic. _Shit. Shit. Shit. Ok, Zoe, think. What else did you say?_

Before her thoughts could spiral into unproductive confusion, Hunkle let out a little sniff. “Doyouthinkmyfamilymissesme?” they say in a rush of air, blinking rapidly.

“Erm, sorry? Could you repeat that, Kid?”

“Oh, well…” They shift awkwardly, looking away. “Do you think my family misses me?”

Zoe stared at Hunkle incredulously. “Kid, what sort of question is that? Of course they miss you! Shit, I don’t think a day goes by where they don’t miss you. If I ever had a kid with that _dreamy Pantalone -_ ” Hunkle rolled their eyes. “- And suddenly that child went missing, you bet your ass I’d be finding that child every moment I could. I’d probably give up singing, if it came down to it.” Zoe paused, realization flashing in her eyes. “You’re not worried about them forgetting you, are you?”

“No, it’s not that!” Hunkle squeaks. “I know they miss me. I’m not worried about that. It’s just -” they trailed off, voice weak and unsure. Zoe quietly sat down beside them, legs bent casually and eyes staring into the horizon. The two sat in silence. In the distance, Zoe could see a storm brewing.

“I feel like I should miss my family,” finally whispered Hunkle, eyes downcast. “And I think I do. But,” they said, voice barely audible, “I don’t know them. I don’t really know them. I remember a cottage and some faces and a drop of water. But how do I know which of the faces are my parents? What happens if I get to see them, and everything I imagine was just a lie? What if the faces themselves were a lie, if they were just another fake image created by the Lurker?” Their hands shook slightly. “I saw my parents for five years. I’ve been seeing the Lurker for 10, 15 years, who knows! For every year my parents raised me, the Lurker raised me for five. I want to go home, _I want to go home_ , but I try to think of Toril and I remember practically nothing, nothing that I saw with my own eyes, nothing that I didn’t see through the eyes of the Lurker and that stupid gray Sea of Realms.” They look up, eyes glazed and far away. “I’ve been raised by the Lurker, and it’s the truth, and I hate it.” Their whole body started to shake. “Does that make the Lurker three times more my parent than my parents ever were?” 

The shaking suddenly ceased. Worried, Zoe peered into Hunkle’s eyes and blanched. Hunkle’s face was frozen in terror, petrified eyes widened in unconcealed shock.

“Does that make me the child of the Lurker?” They whispered, voice weak with dawning realization.

“No!” gasped Zoe in horror. “Kid, no, what are you thinking?” Zoe grasped at Hunkle’s arm, but it was too late. An ugly sob tore out of Hunkle’s throat. Their body shook violently as hot tears ran down their face, torrents of weary, aged despair clashing with innocent, youthful hope. It was at this moment that Zoe realized that, for all of their magic and cult-leader bravado, the Kid was really a _kid_ , young and lost and far away from home. _How long have you suffered like this?_ Her heart ached for the changeling, suddenly seeming so small and fragile, and felt tears of her own welling up. _How could the Lurker have done this?_

Zoe reached out and wrapped Hunkle in a firm hug, tucking the changeling’s head under her chin. Slowly, hesitantly, she brought a hand to their smooth white hair, stroking it softly. A million thoughts ran through her mind, itching to burst free, but the words were caught in her throat. _But what do you say? What could you even say?_

But she was a bard, and a siren, and while words occasionally failed her, her voice never did. Closing her eyes, she shifted the changeling in her arms and remembered. Remembered the blazing sun and the azure waves and the soft shushing consonants of her native tongue. Remembered the joyous market songs, the distant shepard’s calls, and the quiet lullabies that made up her childhood. _That made up her home._ She felt a stab of wistfulness, a searing pain on a wound long forgotten, and thought of the crying child in her arms. _You have to open the wound for it to properly heal._ She gripped Hunkle closer. Carefully, gently, with the sadness of yesterday and the wistfulness of tomorrow, Zoe started to sing.

 _“Don’t be angry at me, my dear eyes, for going abroad // I’ll turn into a bird and I’ll come back to you once more”_ [1]

And she sang and sang and sang, a promise to sing until her voice became hoarse, until there were no more songs to sing, until the world ended and they dissolved into dust. _You’re alive, and you’re here,_ she wanted to say. _You’re our Kid and you’re not a Lurker and we love you_. “I will sing for you,” she says instead, after the end of the first song. “I’ll sing for as long as you need me to.”

And so they sat, enveloped in a quiet, shaky peace, as the brewing storm dissolved into a soft, hazy sunset. Zoe continued to sing, her quiet, velvety voice meshing into Hunkle’s wavering sobs, their faces illuminated in radiant gold. Below, they could hear the energetic singing of the bardic bird trio, the crashing of the waves, and rolling laughter of Moira.

“Do you think my home is real?” asked Hunkle, quietly, when the last light of the horizon disappeared into the night.

Zoe sighed and closed her eyes. “I don’t know, Kid.” She squeezed them gently, arms steady and throat tight. “But we’ll get you there anyway. Don’t you worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Song lyric is from George Dalaras - mi mou thimonis matia mou (English translation: don't be angry).
> 
> Wow, over 3000 words! This fic seems to get longer each chapter. A+ parenting Zoe, A+ emotional maturity Hunkle, B+ physical therapy Moira. 
> 
> Also, I don't think I need to be saying this, but humors are not medically valid. Please go to a doctor if you're sick.


	6. Day 2.5 - Neil O’Hare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When life gives you lemons, be a snake. Or, even better, be Dinkleshire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neil uses a gratuitous amount of period-appropriate slang. Please forgive him. He's just an econ bro at heart, he doesn't know any better. (Dictionary at the end)

_Suspects so far_

  * **_Captain Moira (biggest alcoholic on this ship)_**


  * ~~Jonathon Chelsea (seems like he drinks)~~ (Actually doesn’t drink??)


  * ~~Jimmi Hendrix (who is noted to be severely offended by being on this list)~~


  * ~~Arthur (also an alcoholic)~~


  * Simon (drinks when thinking of Ophelia)


  * Neil???? (Would be pissed if he found out rum is gone)
  * ~~Darra??? (Likes to drink while repairing the ship)~~



* * *

_(Suspect) Testimony: Neil O’Hare_

_Role: Quartermaster_

_Location : Officer’s Quarters_

_Interrogator: Dinkleshire_

Three o’clock was really the best time for tea, mused Dinkleshire, lifting a cup of warm black tea to his lips. An old habit from his youth, afternoon tea was almost holy for the former ambassador - a quiet moment to relax, reflect, and enjoy a moment of peace. In his new life, stranded with a pack full of unruly, mannerless heathens, Dinkleshire treasured even more this quiet bubble of solitude. The kind old man’s dedication to the finer arts was well known throughout the ship, and was generally respected by all, in fear of coming face to face with what Zoe affectionately called “scary diplomat face.” This so-called “scary diplomat face” ( _which is not quite scary at all_ , though a miffed Dinkleshire) was so terrifying that according to legend, it was able to convince the Captain to embrace sobriety for two whole hours on her own accord. As this face would only appear, however, if one interrupted Dinkleshire’s afternoon tea, the crew normally steered clear of him as soon as they smelled a whiff of tea, allowing for plenty of time to quietly enjoy the quasi-sacred tea. Dinkleshire closed his eyes and smiled, savoring the tea’s rich malty undertones. _I do enjoy a good Assam black._

“Dinkleshire!” A hairy arm slammed opened the heavy wooden door door. Walking briskly into Dinkleshire’s office, the dark-haired man slammed the door shut with his food and crossed his arms, glaring resolutely at Dinkleshire. In his left hand was an abacus, his right a pen and ledger. “What is the meaning of this?” His face, tanned in the sun and half-covered in a bushy beard, was contorted into a snarl, green eyes blazing and shoulders shaking in barely-contained anger. 

Eyes remaining closed, Dinkleshire slowly put down his cup and took a deep breath. Opening his eyes, gray eyes stormy and bright, Dinkleshire pursed his lips and slightly furrowed his brows. “Good day, Master Neil. I was not expecting you for tea.” 

“And I was not expecting a thief on this ship!” Neil walked briskly to the table and slammed his hand down. Tea droplets spilled on the dark walnut table. “Five barrels of rum! Pray tell, brother of the quill [1], do you know of this?” He threw down the ledger and pointed at a table neatly filled with numbers. “The numbers don’t lie.”

Dinkleshire closed his eyes again. Taking a deep breath, he responded, “Please, Master Neil, there is no need for arguments. I am sure it is just an error.” He paused. “And please, try not to make a mess. The tea is quite expensive.

“Oh for the love of -” Neil threw up his hands, muttering something about _fucking tea_ under his breath. “Just an error? _Just an error?_ Listen here, Dinkleshire, I’ve had it up to here this week, in between dealing with salary complaints and my keys being stolen, I don’t need any rapscallions [2] thinking that they can get away with stealing rum! Do you know how much rum _costs?_ ” Neil’s hands flew to his abacus, beads colliding in snapping cacophony. “Even when accounting for the change in price of the market due to external factors…”

“Forsooth, I understand your pain. Come, let us sit down and discuss. I am quite sure that we are both reasonable individuals.” 

“...we are at a loss of at least 500 and up to 700 gold pieces. And we need to still pay the salaries, and buy more gunpowder. Damn the inelastic nature of alcohol.” He paused, chest heaving. After a tense minute, the quartermaster exhaled deeply, face settling into a mask of calm. “Very well, Dinkleshire, we will discuss this like individuals.” Pulling up a chair, he awkwardly collapsed next to the former diplomat. “But believe me, this mistake has cost us greatly.” 

Abacus snapping, feet tapping, teeth clacking, Neil was 6 feet of restless energy and pure mathematical terror. Rumors claimed that he was the true captain on the ship, directing the supplies and rations with an almost robotic efficiency. Mistakes in calculations and cheaters of rations were severely punished under his withering gaze. It was only thanks to pure luck that the missing barrels of rum were able to remain undetected until now. 

_Well, at least he came to me first_ , thought Dinkleshire. Mathematics may not have been Dinkleshire’s strong suit, but he was a diplomat first and foremost, and damage control was practically a second nature to him. Dinkleshire looked at the tired man beside him, mulling over his options. He had to convince Neil to hand over control of the missing barrels to the former diplomat, that the issue was quite minor to begin with, and that no further escalation was necessary. _But what to do?_ Aside from a well-documented penchant for trade, free enterprise, and some sort of invisible hand, Neil was also known for using (in Dinkleshire’s humble opinion) _utterly useless and mystifying slang_ , which always failed to catch on to the other crew members. _Hmmm_ . An idea slowly started to appear in Dinkleshire’s brain. _Quite interesting. But first..._

“Master Neil, you seem quite tired, if I may say so myself. Surely, it is not just the barrels. What is this about higher salaries?” Dinkleshire wordlessly took out another cup and filled it with tea. Carefully, he placed the cup in front of Neil. _Now, we wait_.

“Is that Assam? I can recognize that tea anywhere. Great cost per use and -” Neil picked up the cup and downed the tea in one go. “And great tasting, too. Thank you.” Licking his lips, Neil picked up the ledger and flipped to another page before handing it to Dinkleshire. The page was crammed to the brim with names, and next to the names were strings of numbers and symbols that Dinkleshire couldn’t recognize. _TR = P*Q?_ _Deadweight loss?_ “Pray tell, what is this?”

Neil sighed. “That’s the salary list. The Captain wanted a salary raise for everyone, and so I’ve been busy all week trying to recalculate it. Look, I don’t mind a salary raise in general, it’s a great idea. I myself would love to have another 5, 10% increase. But look at those numbers. Between the cost of upkeep and supplies and the fact that we’re just broke, period, I don’t think a raise is possible.” Neil sighed again, even deeper this time. “But apparently word got out that there’s going to be a salary raise, and so what can I do but comply? I’ve been trying my best, believe me. But with those numbers?” Neil sighed, yet again, somehow even deeper than before. “I’ve been hung dry all day, running and talking to as many crew members as I can, trying to think of some solution.”

“Why not discuss with everyone during the next pirate council meeting? I don’t understand why we need to have a pay raise immediately.”

“That’s the thing, that’s what I figured at first. But it seems like people are expecting a raise to be announced _at_ the pirate council meeting. Which leaves me with pretty much no time to come up with a solution that’ll make me happy and make the crew happy. It’s impossible,” he shrugged, “they’re making me out to be the protagonist of a banbury story [3].”

“That’s ridiculous. There has got to be something. Have you tried negotiating? I could help, you know.”

“Ever the diplomat, aren’t you. I think I need to handle this issue, though, that’s my job after all. But you see, I did try negotiating. First for a delayed pay raise, then for increased benefits later on. Nobody would budge, though, I guess they figured that if it gets delayed, they won’t see any pay increase. Well, they’re not wrong.” Neil smiled, sharp and ironic. “So, out of ideas, I went with the easiest solution: alcohol. I figured that people like their alcohol. God knows why, but we’re a bunch of borachios [4] on this ship. So I thought, why not give people a raise with alcohol?”

“But what about that balsamic?”

“That _balsam_ [5], you mean. As I said before, this ship’s filled with alcoholics who love their drink. It seems like pretty much everyone is happy with getting more alcohol instead of cash as a temporary pay raise. Of course,” he added, pointing to another formula, “I also had to agree to a later pay raise in hard cash, with interest. But I can always do that on a later date. People want results now, and I’ll give them the results they want. Make the investors happy, that’s the first rule of economics.” He paused. “Well, the second. After the Law of Supply and Demand.”

Dinkleshire looked at Neil blankly. “What words of cramp do you refer to?”

“Well these _cramp-words_ [6] are just fundamental principles of economics.” Neil shrugged his shoulders. “But that’s not important. Anyway, that’s why I ended up going to the food storage room. I wanted to go through the kitchen, like usual, but Jimmi was being especially cranky the last couple of days. He didn’t allow anyone into the kitchen, that gall of his! Something about the kitchen being a safe space, or something. So I went to my locker to get the spare storage room keys, so I could enter through the kitchen at a later time, sometime when Jimmi was out of the kitchen. And - oh!” Neil widened his eyes and slammed his hand down. “The missing keys! Goddammit it. You wouldn’t believe it. So there I was, going about my business. I go to the locker, open them up, and - poof! My fucking keys were gone!” 

“Grapeseed!”, exclaimed Dinkleshire. Neil looked at him oddly. “You mean Gapeseed? [7]” Dinkleshire blushed. “Yes-yes, that. Gapeseed. It must be shocking, no? What horor! What did you do next?”

“Well, I closed my locker and immediately reported to the Captain that the keys were missing. She was, unsurprisingly, playing cards and drinking, and refused to take me seriously. Looked me in the eye and asked if I’d double-checked. Double-checked! That bastard,” he huffed, “So I went downstairs to my locker, just to spite her, and I opened the door and saw… my keys. On its hook in the very back of the locker, where I usually keep’em. I’m telling you, something fishy was going on. I think someone stole them.”

“But could someone really steal your keys in that moment between going to the Captain’s quarters and coming back? What for? Maybe you were just tired?”

Neil scowled. “Look, I’m not stupid. But maybe...maybe I was just tired. Who knows. You know, the strangest thing happened. When I was walking towards the captain’s cabins, I passed by Simon, doing whatever the hell he normally does. You know, black hood, all that jazz. I greeted him and put out my hand to shake, as we normally do. But here’s the funny thing - when he reached his hand out to shake, his hand was covered in blood, as if he was injured. But I saw no wounds on his hands. He looked normal when I saw him later that night, though, so I think I was just tired. Or the light, maybe. Funny how light does that, no?” Neil shook his head. “It was just a moment, though, so maybe I was just imagining it.”

 _Really, the things I do to put up with this crew._

“And so you found your keys, correct? Were you able to go into the storage room?”

“Oh yeah, that. As I was saying, I was going to enter the storage room when Jimmi left the kitchen, but he was in there all day and glancing at the door. Well, that’s clearly a sign that something’s suspicious, so I go into the kitchen for some answers. And that’s when Jimmi confesses that he didn’t want me to enter the storage room because he knew the five barrels were missing!” Neil ground his teeth together, fingers angrily tapping on the wooden table. “He was afraid that I’d chew his head off! Or I’d suspect him! I’m suspecting him a lot more now that he tried to cover up the evidence!” He clicked his tongue. “I told him that I had my keys, and I’d open the door myself and check if he didn’t let me in. Well, he let me in, and I checked, and sure enough five barrels were missing. He knew the barrels were missing, and he tried to block me from entering the storage room! That bastard, he should have come to me immediately! I’m the one who’s in charge of supplies, not me. I’m going to tell the crew immediately, see how they react to a thief who tampered with crucial evidence! Right under our very noses!”

“Now-now,” soothed Dinkleshire, “don’t blame Jimmi too much. I don’t think Jimmi did the right thing,” _God damn you Jimmi, why did you spill the beans?_ “But I don’t think his fear is unfounded, either. We only know a partial picture, we don’t know his motivations. Perhaps there is some reason behind his actions. Or perhaps he is guilty. Please calm down, Master Neil, I am not saying he is completely without guilt. Let us try him at the pirate council, a council of peers. Let the others decide if he is innocent or guilty. We are, after all, only two men.” He stared levelly at Neil. “Or do you have any other ideas?”

Neil exhaled loudly through his nose. “But won’t that allow him to get away with it even more? He’s the only one I can think of that could have stolen the barrels.”

“But Jimmi is quite small, and the barrels are easily bigger than his body. Besides, I am sure there are other suspects. What of the newest addition? Arthur? He also is in charge of supplies, is he not?”

“I don’t think it’s him,” said Neil, “he’s a real swillbelly [8], just like the Captain, but he runs numbers well and he doesn’t lie. Besides, he doesn’t watch over the food.” Neil nods once. “You know, it’s...nice, in a way, to have an assistant. Of sorts. Our productivity has gone up by over 50%, and well,” he trailed off, almost sheepish. “Well, it’s nice to have someone check over the math every once in a while. But mind you,” he points at the ledger, earlier scowl returning, “this isn’t a mathematical mistake. I checked, the barrels are missing. Someone is behind this.” Neil rubbed his temples. “First the pay raise, then the keys, and now this. This week has been a struggle. But,” a complicated emotion flashed in his eyes, “I think you’re right. Let the pirate council determine this. In the meantime, I must speak with the Captain. About - about everything.” 

Dinkleshire nodded, seemingly deep in thought. After a pregnant pause, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m quite sorry to hear of your struggles. Please accept my condolences, and be comforted in knowing that your actions help out our crew greatly. I am glad to hear that your keys were found, but I do suggest that you report that to the Captain. Have you done it, or shall I do so? I was just going to visit after my tea.”

Neil tilted his head. “If you could do it, that would be much appreciated. I still need to talk to -” Neil paused and looked up, muttering under his breath “ - about 10 more crew members about this pay raise business. God,” he shook his head, blanching, “and the day’s already half gone!”

Dinkleshire patted Neil’s shoulder. “There-there, young man, it’s all right. I will gladly tell the Captain. You’ve already got a lot on your plate, and I agree, fixing the salary issue is our first priority. We don’t want the situation to escalate any more than it already has. In fact, why don’t you concentrate on fixing that first? The barrel issue needs to be brought to the Captain, but I’m going to her anyway to talk about your keys. You need to take care of the salary issue first.”

Neil looked at Dinkleshire suspiciously. “But the barrels are under my jurisdiction, and you know how the Captain will explode when she hears about this. Let me handle both, I can deal with her temper better.”

“I know, Master Neil” Dinkleshire responded with a small smile, “I’m sure you can handle it just fine. But imagine how the Captain will react if the rum barrels are missing, and now imagine how the crew will react if their promised pay raise is missing. You’re stronger and younger, I think you can handle the crew’s anger better than I can. Besides, I think you will agree when I say that the pay raise is the utmost priority for us right now. Leave the Captain to me, I’ve known her for a while, and besides, what can she do against an old man like me?” Neil nodded, satisfied. Dinkleshire continued, “I've heard everything already in my old age. Some expletives here and there won’t hurt a bit. Let me ease some of your burden. You take care of the difficult matters, and let me deal with the swillstomach Captain… or is it the swillbelly Captain?”

Neil threw his head back in laughter. “One day, old man,” he choked in between tears, “one day you’ll get it!”

 _Wouldn’t you know, you arsworm_[9], thought Dinkleshire bitterly. _Wouldn’t you know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those keeping track...
> 
>   1. _Brother of the quill_ \- a professional writer 
>   2. _Rapscallion_ \- a mischievous person
>   3. _Banbury story_ \- a ridiculous tale 
>   4. _Borachio_ \- an alcoholic 
>   5. _Balsam_ \- money 
>   6. _Cramp-words_ \- obscure language much like Neil is using here
>   7. _Gapeseed_ \- an exclamation used to mean shock or surprise 
>   8. _Swillbelly_ \- someone who drinks a lot 
>   9. _Arsworm_ \- a little diminutive fellow, negative in connotation 
> 

> 
> Dinkleshire is most definitely a pubpol kid. Also, footnotes in ao3 are a pain in the ass.


	7. Day 3 - Moira Trelian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"If you're gonna play the game, boy // You gotta learn to play it right"_ \- Kenny Rodgers, _The Gambler_

_Suspects so far_

  * **_Captain Moira (biggest alcoholic on this ship)_**


  * ~~Jonathon Chelsea (seems like he drinks)~~ (Actually doesn’t drink??)


  * ~~Jimmi Hendrix (who is noted to be severely offended by being on this list)~~


  * ~~Arthur (also an alcoholic)~~


  * Simon (drinks when thinking of Ophelia)


  * ~~Neil???? (Would be pissed if he found out rum is gone)~~


  * ~~Darra??? (Likes to drink while repairing the ship)~~



* * *

_(Suspect) Testimony: Moira Trelian_

_Role: Captain_

_Location: Captain’s Quarters_

_Interrogator: Hunkle_

_  
_ “I’m just saying,” Moira hiccuped, swaying slightly. Her leg, bound up in a splint and placed on a stool, seemed on the verge of falling down. “I’m just saying, if I need to honeytrap’em to kill that bastard, I’ll do it.” She waved a bottle of rum in the air, practically empty and held loosely in her vibrating right hand. In her left hand were a couple of cards, held steady and firm, a complete contrast to the rest of her restless body. She nodded her head towards a large mahogany table, placed in between the two sitting players. Five playing cards and a deck of cards were lined up neatly in the center of the table, surrounded by colorful wooden chips and three bottles of rum. “Are you gonna play or not?”

Hunkle sighed and looked down at their hand of cards. Zoe owed her _big time._

“Ghost tried to kill you, Moira,” they deadpanned. They deftly picked up a card from the deck and shuffled it noncommittally into their other cards. They frowned. _8 black pointy things. What are they called again?_

“Exactly!” she grinned, sharp and feral. “His mind is focused on killing me. Betcha he thinks I’m going to kill him, too.” She took a large gulp from her bottle. “Well, I am gonna kill that bastard. Put a bullet through his stomach too, you know.” She licked her lips. “But if I’m just going to kill him immediately, it’s obvious, he’ll know. We can’t have that, can we. So I’m going to honeytrap him. You know, work some magic, seduce him a bit. He’ll fall for it, not suspecting a thing, and then boom! Dead. He’ll never see it coming. She grinned. “An eye from an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” 

Hunkle’s eye twitched. “I’m not sure that’s the right saying, Moira.” _Everyone knows it’s a nose for a nose, an elbow for an elbow. Earthlings are weird._ They eyed the almost-empty bottle of rum. _Or maybe it’s just Moira_.

Hunkle closed their eyes and sighed. _Watch over Moira, they said. It will be short, they said._ They thought of the siren, eyes thankful and smile guilty, who ambushed Hunkle immediately after breakfast and begged them for a favor. 

_We can’t have Moira come to the committee meeting today,_ Zoe said, as Hunkle handed the red journal over to her. She scanned the room and lowered her voice, barely above a whisper. _You know. The alcohol barrels._ And, well, what was Hunkle supposed to respond to that?

And thus they found themselves in the captain’s quarters, five hours later, surrounded by Moira’s incessant chatter and stuck in a never-ending game of poker. _Well,_ reflected Hunkle, catching sight of Moira’s shuffling her cards with one hand, her mouth curled in a satisfied grin, _it can’t all be that bad_. 

Indeed, the selkie was absolutely ecstatic upon hearing Hunkle’s offer of poker. _I can’t believe you willingly asked to play poker!_ She said. _Finally, learning something useful for once!_ Hunkle couldn’t help but roll their eyes. _I’m just doing this because you can still barely walk,_ they said in response, ignoring Moira’s childish pout of objection. _Who needs poker, anyway?_

Unconsciously, they felt their mouth curl up into a small smile, swept away by the memory of Moira’s infectious glee.

“-unkle? Hunkle? You there, Kid?” Moira snapped her fingers in front of Hunkle’s face. Hunkle jumped in surprise and recoiled, quickly covering their cards with their hands. “Relax, Kid, I didn't look,” the Captain said, pouting childishly. “Whatcha thinking about? Kraken got your tongue?” Her tone was light, but her eyes, sharp and guarded, bored into Hunkle’s skull.

Disoriented by the sudden change in atmosphere, Hunkle shook their head and stuttered out a response. “Nothing much,” they said. “I’m just thinking of what to do next.”

Moira hummed noncommittally, seemingly dissatisfied, but looked away. Hunkle internally sighed in relief. _What was that about?_

“And, well,” they added, almost as an afterthought. Moira looked back at the changeling and raised an eyebrow. Without thinking, they blurted out, “I was just thinking about how nice it is. You know,” they trailed off awkwardly, scratching their neck. “This.” They gave a shaky grin. “Even if I did have to sit through your rant about Ghost. Or about your hallucinations. Really, Moira. You really need to stop drinking.”

 _It’s true,_ thought Hunkle. _Moira drinks way too much_ . _It’s even begun to affect her sense of reality_ . Just an hour ago, Moira was telling Hunkle about a strange voice she heard - hallucinations most likely by the selkie’s ever-present bottle of rum, although she claimed otherwise. _It was so odd,_ Moira said, gesturing wildly. _I was sitting here a couple of days ago, business as usual. Suddenly, I feel this horrible chill, and then I hear someone - I swear, I did, stop laughing! - whisper in my ear, saying “thank you.” I turned around but I saw nobody. Fucking hell, Kid! Stop laughing, goddammit! I swear, this happened!_ Truly, excessive drinking was a dangerous thing.

Moira blinked slowly, then suddenly burst out into laughter. “Really, Kid,” she wheezed, holding her cards to her shaking chest, “the things you say! Goddamn!” She put down the bottle of rum, now completely empty, and wagged her finger at Hunkle. “You’re gonna need a better poker face than that, Kid.”

Hunkle crinkled their eyebrows together, confused. _What?_ “It’s the truth.”

“It’s the truth now, really?” she smiled, eyes easy and dark. Hunkle swallowed and shook their head. _What’s going on? Is this some sort of advanced poker technique I don’t know about?_ Moira smiled, soft and deadly. “You sure? Nothing hidden behind that little smile of yours?”

“Why would I lie?”, blurted out Hunkle, hurt at the accusation. “It’s just a game of poker, no need to be so serious!” They threw down their cards. “See? All I got is a pair of aces! Show me your cards!”

Moira scowled. “That’s not how you play poker, Kid! How many times do I have to tell you, we’re not playing bridge! Hide your cards!” She rolled her eyes, but without heat. The strange tension dissipated into the air. “Fine, fine.” She placed her cards neatly down on the table, face up.

Hunkle scrunched up their face. “A straight! You win again! That’s like the 30th time today!”, they grumbled. “It’s not fair, how do you keep on winning?”

Moira laughed, boisterous. “It’s not my fault I’m so good, Kid.” She winked, moving to pick up the cards, but paused mid-motion. 

She frowned. “Kid, what are you saying? Look at your cards carefully.” Hunkle, still in a foul mood over losing yet again, glanced at the cards, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“I don’t see anything,” they said. 

“It’s because you’re only looking at the cards you have in your hand. You’re not getting the full picture, the broader context. Look again carefully. See?” She tapped Hunkle’s cards. “Let’s consider just your cards. From that point of view, you’re right, you’ve got a pair of aces. Since I’ve got a straight, a seven to a queen, you’ve lost.” 

She tapped the table. “That’s the problem with looking just at your hand, your focus becomes tilted. Like the situation with two aces just now, you know.”

She deftly picked out black three cards from Hunkle’s hand and placed them on the table, next to the line of cards. “But, if we do this, we’re considering all the cards, not just the ones in your hand. Now try again, take a look, see what you’ve got.” Moira smiled gently. “If we just focus on the two aces, I win. But, if we look at all the black cards here…”

Hunkle looked at the cards, then widened their eyes. “I’ve got five of the black pointy things!”

Moira chuckled. “That’s right, five spades. That gets you a flush, which is ranked higher than a pair of aces.” She opened her arms. “Good job, Kid, that’s a victory for you.”

Hunkle paused. “But how does that work? The cards aren’t even in order! And they’re all lower than yours in value!”

Moira shook her head. “You’re thinking too narrow again, Kid. It’s not just about the number, or what you have in your hands. You gotta connect the dots,” she pointed at the eight of spades, “and form the entire picture. Only then can you actually see what’s going on.” Her eyes twinkled. “So Kid, you won. What do you want as a reward? More pirate stories from my youth?”

Hunkle groaned. “What sort of reward is that? I’d rather drink that stupid garlic medicine!”

“Hey!” Moira squaked. “That’s for your health! We’re not gonna have you die again, you punk!”

“I told you, I didn’t die!” 

Before the two could descend into squabbling, someone knocked against the wooden door. Simon walked into the room, black cloak swaying and carrying something in his hand.

“Oh, for the - oh! Simon! Good to see yo - Goddamn, Simon, you look terrible! What got you into that mess?”

Hunkle looked at Simon’s face and couldn’t help but agree. A black eye was starting to form on his right eye, and his lip was swollen. Hunkle immediately thought of Arthur, who sported a similar appearance a few days prior. _What’s with it with Earthlings and their penchant for black eyes?_

Simon bobbed his head. “It’s nothing, Captain. Just a small disagreement with Neil. It’s fixed now.” He looked around the room and wrinkled his nose. “How long have you been here for?”

“The entire day,” Hunkle cut in. “It’s been terrible! I’ve been sitting here, all alone with Moira since this morning! It’s awful. What did I do to deserve this?”

“I’m a joy to be around, whaddya mean?” Moira drawled. “But the Kid’s right, I haven’t seen anyone all day. It’s been so lonely.”

Simon pursued his lips. “No one? Not even Zoe?” His eyes glinted oddly.

“Nah, not even Zoe. Haven’t really seen her since yesterday. She’d already left by the time I woke up this morning.” She waved her hand. “By the way, how was today’s meeting? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it, I had to deal with the Kid over here. Did you take notes for me?”

A brief frown flashed on his face. “Did Zoe not send you any notes?”

“No?” Moira responded, confused. “Was she supposed to?”

Simon hummed in response, eyes narrowing slightly. He looked at the pile of cards on the table. “Ah, poker. It’s been a while, perhaps I shall play a round some time in the future.”

“Why not now?” Hunkle exclaimed, eyes pleading. “You should come join us!”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” said Simon, shaking his head. “I have some business to attend to.”

“Yeah, right.” Moira smiled, sharp and deadly. “What, afraid you’ll lose?”

Simon shook his head. “Your dislike of losing is as strong as ever, I see.” He turned and faced Hunkle, ignoring Moira’s wild grin. “I’m surprised you’re still here, Hunkle,” he said, pity dripping from his voice. “Have you managed to beat the Captain yet? Or is she keeping you hostage until you do so?”

“Once or twice,” they said. “But I’m pretty sure she lost on purpose.” Moira snorted, suppressing a laugh. “I think she felt bad that I kept losing.” They shrugged. “It’s not bad, really. Who else is going to babysit Moira?” Moira sputtered out an incoherent response, mumbling something about _ungrateful changelings_ under her breath.

Simon chuckled. “That is, unfortunately, most likely the case. I learned from the best poker players in Ireland - absolute bastards who perfected the art of poker. Yet I can still barely keep up with her, especially when she actually tries.” He pointed a finger at Moira and wagged it in mock anger. “Who did you learn to play poker from, Captain? The creator of poker himself?  [1] ”

Moira cackled. “Why, Simon,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes. “How else do you think I managed to fund my alcohol habit for all these years? Sleeping around for alcohol gets exhausting after a while, you know.”

Hunkle covered their face with their hands and internally screamed. “I didn’t need to know that,” they croaked. _Zoe, you definitely owe me big time._

“Captain, think of the child.” They could almost _hear_ Simon rolling his eyes. “And anyway, please be serious for a second. I have the ship’s ledger here, as you requested?”

Peering through their hands, they observed how Simon walked over and handed the ledger to the captain. Leaning over, Simon whispered something into Moira’s ear as she flipped through the book, frowning.

Hunkle heard the crinkling of folded paper. After a beat, Moira exhaled softly. _Just like we thought_ , Moira said, Hunkle’s sharp elven hearing picking up the mumbled words. _They know_ . They watched as Moira subtly tilted their head towards the door - _no, towards me_. 

_The barrels_ , said Moira. Hunkle sucked in a breath. _So it’s true._ Moira blinked slowly. _Good work_. 

Moira yawned, slow and deliberate, a clear end to the conversation. She handed the ledger back to Simon, who nodded and straightened his back.

 _How do you know about the barrels?_ Hunkle thought numbly.

Moira looked over her shoulder. A wall clock, large and ornate, hung on the wall. It was 4:20 PM. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Simon?” she said, voice loud and even. She raised her hands over her head and stretched, muscles flexing. “We’re finishing up soon, anyway. Play a couple more rounds, then maybe go to _dinner_ .” The last word seemed to have a slight emphasis, unnoticeable were it not for Hunkle’s sharp hearing. “Jimmi said he’s cooking something good tonight. Good thing too, I’m _hungry_ . I’ll be _zooming_ my way over to the kitchen as soon as I can. Don’t know how I’ll move with this splint of mine, though. Could _you_ or _Neil_ get it? Hell, even _Arthur_ . Get some _drinks_ while you’re at it, too.”

Simon sighed. “ _Rum,_ again?”, he asked, the penultimate word carrying the same, strange emphasis.

Moira laughed. “Of course. What else?” She waved her hand away. “I’ll see you later!” With one final nod, Simon silently left the room.

Hunkle stared blankly at the table, mind reeling. _What’s going on?_

“Well,” she said, voice light. “Two more games, and let’s call it a night?”

_How does she know about the barrels? Unless….no. Oh, no._

“Hey, Kid, it’s ok.” Moira’s voice cut through their thoughts, voice taking on a hint of concern. “It’s ok, we can be done after this. No worries. Here, I’ll be the dealer.” Moira quickly placed down some cards, actions fluid with practiced ease. 

Hunkle sat still, frozen. 

Moira gently handed the cards over to Hunkle. “You want to be good, right?”, she teased. Hunkle barely managed to pick up the two cards, body numb with shock.“You gotta play if you want to be good, Kid.” Moira’s voice called out, taking on a strange echo. “Then maybe you’ll be as good as me. The student beating the teacher, a tale as old as time.”

“Who was your teacher?” they blurted out, Simon’s words suddenly echoing in their mind. Moira stilled, an myriad of emotion flashing through their eyes. “Who taught you to play poker, Moira?” Moira didn’t answer, staring disapprovingly at Hunkle.

A sob crawled up Hunkle’s throat. _What’s going on? What’s going on?_ _I’m scared. I’m confused. Why are you making that face? Why do you know about the barrels?_ They opened their mouth, confusion muddling their emotions, mind going blank. “It’s not anyone on this ship, is it? Is it Arthur? I know he’s good.” The words rushed out before they could control them. “You’re the best on this ship. You keep beating me, at least.” They chuckled robotically, looking at the two cards in their hands. _Different colors, different numbers. Losing hand. Damn_. Tears pricked at their eyes. 

“No one taught me to play poker, Kid,” Moira cut in, calm and violent like a deep-sea current. “Poker isn’t something you learn from someone else. Poker’s an art, a craft, something you can’t just develop in a day.” Ignoring Hunkle’s hesitation, Moira slammed two wooden chips down onto the center of the table and picked up a card from the deck. “Pick up a card, Kid.”

Robotically, Hunkle picked up a chip and quietly placed it next to Moira’s. They picked up another card. 

“You learn to play poker by watching your cards and watching your fellow players.” Moira picked up another card. “You learn to play poker by watching their moves and counting their cards, watching your back and staying vigilant.” 

Moira picked up a card. Her gaze pierced through Hunkle, eyes sharp and accusatory, bright and victorious. She held five cards in her hand. “You learn to play from time and experience and by keeping the best poker face you can, goddammit. You learn from experience, from playing over and over, until you can wrestle out victory from the jaws of failure with your eyes closed. That’s how I learned to play poker, Kid. That’s all. Not from anyone else. Just me.”

Hunkle had the sudden feeling that they were no longer talking about poker. 

They stared down at their cards. _No matches_ , they thought dimly. _Inconclusive_. “Is that why you keep asking me to play poker with you?” They asked quietly.

Moira nodded her head slowly. A heavy silence descended upon the room. A cold breeze trickled in from an open window, permeating the air with the smell of the sea. The wall clock ticked to an unrelenting beat, loud and ringing in the oppressive silence. Hunkle shivered slightly. 

Moira looked at Hunkle’s hand, and then at her own, and then back again at Hunkle’s. _She’s counting my cards,_ they realized dimly. _Oh god._ A feeling of nausea overcame them. _Moira, Moira, what do you see?_

Moira stared hard at her cards. Hunkle felt the hairs on their neck rise, pulse rushing through their ears. They tensed in bated breath.

Slowly, deliberately, Moira placed her cards down onto the table, face down, and slid them towards Hunkle. _Cards folded._ Hunkle’s jaw dropped open in blatant shock. _Why_?

She handed the wooden chips, painted white, to Hunkle. They picked up the wooden chips numbly, running their fingers across the smooth wood. _Wood from real olive trees_ , they distantly recalled Moira saying. _Made them myself from some olive branches. Aren’t they a beauty?_ Hunkle swallowed. _Olive trees. Signs of peace. Signs of surrender._ _But why?_

Hunkle thought of the red journal. Of the crossed out names, of a name written in bold. A horrifying realization dawned over them.

_Captain Moira’s the biggest alcoholic on this ship._

Moira’s words rang in their mind. _You learn to play poker by watching their moves and counting their cards, watching your back and staying vigilant_ . Voice calm, eyes bright and victorious. _Victory wrestled out from the jaws of failure._

They curled their hand into a fist, wooden chips of olive digging into their skin.

_Signs of peace. Signs of surrender. Signs of guilt._

Perhaps this was never about poker after all.

Hands shaking, they placed down their cards. _Two names left uncrossed,_ they thought dimly. _The ledger. Simon’s visit. The stressed words._ Hunkle’s breath quickened. A small sob whimpered out of their throat, a pitiful cry of betrayal. _Oh god, oh god, oh god._ They thought in anguish, suddenly struggling to breathe. _I can’t believe you’ve done this._ They uncurled their shaking hand. _And you almost got away with it, too._

A memory, hazy with time, bloomed in their mind. _You’re the child of heroes,_ they heard their mother say, voice sweet with pride. _You’re the child of justice._ Their mother smiled, brilliant and holy. _Always remember what that means._

Hunkle took a steadying breath and looked up at the captain. _I am the child of justice_. Moira stared back, face impassive. _You stole the barrels, Moira._ They reached across the table. Y _ou almost got away with it._ They placed the wooden chips in front of the captain. _But I can’t let you._ The chips hit the table with an ominous click. _I won’t let you._

“You should keep them,” they said, voice cracking slightly. “We have one more round left.”

 _Watch out, Moira. The investigation’s not over yet._

They gathered the cards. 

Moira said nothing, eyes far away and sad. _So this is how it is,_ they seemed to say. Hunkle’s face contorted in sudden anger. 

_How dare you act sad, you traitor. What right do you have, oh captain of mine._ White hot rage bubbled on their skin. _How dare you. How dare you. How dare you how dare you how dareyouhowdareyouhowdareyou-_

Moira watched wordlessly as Hunkle handed out the cards, one by one.

“Like I said, Kid,” she said after a while. “You need a better poker face.”

Hunkle wanted to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] It is common knowledge that poker was born out of the collective geniuses of King Pawn and a certain DM. Moira has yet to play a match with them, however, not necessarily because it is physically impossible (although, to be clear, it would be physically impossible); rather, it is most likely because of the fact that Moira absolutely hates losing at poker. After all, the last time she seriously lost was right before her first ship was obliterated in a raging tempest. Of course, as correlation does not equal causation, this interpretation of events is not entirely accurate; nonetheless, since pirates are highly superstitious and stubborn in their ways, Moira’s irrational dislike of losing remains still to this day.
> 
> I have taken artistic liberties with how poker is played in the fic. For those who actually know how to play poker, please imagine this version of poker as some odd hybrid between Texas Holdem and Omaha Poker - with a little dash of DND magic to the side.


	8. Day 3.5 - Simon Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation starts unraveling.

_Suspects so far_

  * **_Captain Moira (biggest alcoholic on this ship) (?? Where is Hunkle?? confirm when found)_**
  * _~~Jonathon Chelsea (seems like he drinks)~~ (Actually doesn’t drink??)_


  * ~~Jimmi Hendrix (who is noted to be severely offended by being on this list)~~


  * ~~Arthur (also an alcoholic)~~


  * Simon (drinks when thinking of Ophelia)


  * ~~Neil???? (Would be pissed if he found out rum is gone)~~
  * ~~Darra??? (Likes to drink while repairing the ship)~~



* * *

_(Suspect) Testimony: Simon Was_

_Role: First Mate_

_Location : ????_

_Interrogator: Dinkleshire, Zoe_

Five minutes before the meeting was about to start, Dinkleshire pulled Zoe aside, face grave. Looking around cautiously, he whispered, “Do not let the Captain come to today’s meeting.” Zoe nodded. “I’ll send the Kid over to Moira as a distraction.”

Dinkleshire smoothed out his face, giving Zoe a kind smile. “Good.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “Now, off you go! Please do come right back, your attendance is required for today.” Zoe turned around and ran, footsteps loud and heavy, no doubt to drag an unwilling Hunkle into the captain’s quarters. Dunkleshire stared at her retreating figure, eyes watchful.

He straightened his coat and took a deep breath.

“Well,” he said, his face a perfect image of calm, “just according to plan [1].”

* * *

Two minutes before the meeting was about to start, Zoe walked into the room, clutching the red journal close to her chest as paranoid eyes scanned the room. Seeing no-one, except for a calmly seated Dinkleshire, she visibly calmed, shoulders sagging in relief. She plopped down unceremoniously next to the former diplomat, knees banging against the table, and handed the journal over to Dinkleshire. He tucked the journal into his coat and smiled. "Good job. I take it that the distraction is going well?"

Running a hand over her face, Zoe sighed in aggravation. “I really owe the Kid a favor. I’m pretty sure I just sent them to the world’s saddest Hell, composed of Moira as the devil and the world’s longest game of poker as her weapon of choice.” Dinkleshire hummed in agreement. “Moira wanted to go to today’s meeting, but someone needs to babysit the Kid, I said, and at least I have functioning legs, unlike Captain Splint over there.” She snorted at the memory, but then quickly frowned. “I said I’ll take notes for her and to stop worrying, but she kept waving me off. Something about having a better poker face. What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Dinkleshire glanced at his pocket watch and frowned. “The meeting is about to start.” He smoothed his face once more, face impassive. “Where are the other two?”

A minute passed, then two. Zoe fidgeted in her chair. Then three, then five. Dinkleshire straightened his back and narrowed his eyes slightly. 10 minutes after the meeting was supposed to begin, a sharp knock rapped at the door twice. Zoe startled, eyes wide. Clearing her throat, she called out hesitantly. “Come in!”

Neil trudged into the small room and collapsed into the nearest chair, right across from Dinkleshire. Deep bags sagged under his clouded eyes, and his shirt, noted Zoe, was covered in wrinkles. He pulled out a notepad, his abacus, and - _where is his ledger?_ “On with it, now. I’m exhausted.”

A cloaked figure walked in smoothly behind him. “How unfortunate,” a deep voice drawled, “that your spontaneous hangover could not have come after our pre-planned meetings.” Lithe hands moved to take off the hood, revealing Simon, a perfect image of poise and deadly hesitation. Shrugging off his cloak, he sat down next to Neil, across from Zoe, and pulled out his belongings: some papers, a journal - and, oddly enough, a small metal dagger. 

Dinkleshire glanced at the dagger and raised his eyebrow. Keeping his eyebrow raised, he swept over Neil’s unkempt appearance and frowned. “I believe the meeting was supposed to start 10 minutes ago, is that right Zoe?” She nodded her head in agreement. “Would you please explain to the committee of your absence?”  
  
“We are sorry for our delayed arrival,” smoothly cut in Simon, face calm. “It seems that Neil here decided to prioritize his hangover this morning instead of our meeting, and had to be collected.”

“Oi,” interrupted Neil, voice rough with sleep. “It’s not a hangover, I’m telling you. This _pay raise_ situation has been keeping me up all night.” He glanced down at his materials and cursed. “Goddamnit, I forgot my ledger. What the hell.” He sighed, looking up in annoyance. “I’ll have to go get it.”

“You can get it later, Neil, you’ve already been late enough,” Simon said. He looked around the room and minutely frowned. “Where is the Captain?”

“Moira couldn’t make it,” said Zoe. “I’m taking her place.” Simon stared at Zoe, his eyes flashing momentarily with unexpected anger. _What’s that for?_ She rushed to add, “She’s only gone temporarily. I asked her to watch over the Kid, someone’s gotta do it. It’s nothing serious, really, I felt bad for Moira who can still barely walk and so I decided to give her an easy job, that’s all really, it’s nothing serious.” Zoe paused, catching her breath. “What a lousy captain, am I right?” she chuckled nervously, hoping to lighten the mood. 

Neil scratched his beard and sighed. Zoe smiled clumsily and tapped her fingers against the table. Simon stared at Zoe. Dinkleshire suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. 

_Really, the things I do for this crew._ Dinkleshire coughed. “Well, as we are all gathered here, let us start this meeting.” He nodded at Neil. ”Now, Master Neil, what updates do you have on the pay increase?”

“You see, according to my calculations...”

Zoe zoned out, lost in thought. She suddenly remembered why she never showed up to these meetings; they were _long_ , and _boring_ , and seemed to serve no real purpose but to torture unsuspecting victims. She sighed internally. _How long until this is over, again?_ She scanned the room aimlessly. _I wonder if I can find something to make a ditty out of. Hmmm. Table, clock, window, chair, Simon….Simon?_

Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe saw Simon write something down on a piece of paper, which he then folded into a neat triangle. She watched as Simon's hand slinked out towards Neil’s chair, slipping into Neil’s coat and pulling out… Neil’s ledger. _Wait, what?_ Zoe startled to attention, eyes alert, and watched how Simon carefully placed the _supposedly missing_ ledger on his lap. Neil, who at this point had stood up and started gesturing wildly, suddenly shifted slightly to the left and pointed at Zoe. 

“And what do you think, Zoe?” Zoe blinked, caught unaware. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that again? I must confess, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Simon slink his hand under the desk, note in hand. In one fluid motion, Simon moved his hand behind his back and tucked the ledger into his coat. 

Neil glared and huffed, leaning forward towards the siren. “Zoning out again, I see? I thought you were supposed to be taking notes for the Captain!” He leaned back. She shrugged, visibly confused. _Now why would he point at me, if he knew I wasn’t paying attention?_ Zoe wondered. “I am, but that doesn’t mean I’m an expert on economics like you.” Neil sighed, eyes glinting in - _satisfaction? What?_ \- and moved back to the center. Facing Dinkleshire once more, he continued to rant. “Then you, Dinkleshire, what do you think? These interest rates are too high, don’t you think?”

Zoe glanced at Simon in apprehension. The man sat comfortably and attentively, perfect posture betraying none of his previous actions. Even for Simon, Zoe thought, the action was too perfect, too coordinated. She looked at Neil. _Of course_ , she realized. _Neil didn’t forget his ledger at all_. _They planned this ahead of time._ Zoe’s brain whirred, pieces falling into place. _So that’s why Neil asked me for my opinion. In moving slightly to the left, Neil could obscure Dinkleshire’s vision just enough for Simon to move the ledger over undetected…_ A chill ran down her spine. _10 minutes late. A “missing” ledger._ _Neil’s eyes glinting in satisfaction._ She clenched her hand underneath the table. _Simon, Neil, what are you hiding?_

“I do agree that the interest rates are too high; however, they are not entirely unreasonable, especially if we account for the rate of inflation. If we frame the interest rate as instead a one-time bonus, and delay the bonus until the raw percentage matches the rate of inflation, then I believe we will be able to achieve both the promised pay raise and still stay within budget. Simon, what do you think?”

Simon nodded. “I agree, Dinkleshire. But how can we placate the crew in the meantime? We are expected to produce something soon.” Simon’s eyes took on a dangerous glint. “What do you suggest?” asked Simon, voice deep and unyielding. Zoe braced herself, heartbeat beating rapidly.

“Why, the same solution as I discussed with Master Neil yesterday. We agree to raise the daily rum ration by two servings until the pay raise will come into effect.”

Simon and Dinkleshire locked eyes. The room temperature suddenly dropped to a deadly chill. 

“And how,” intoned Neil, rubbing his beard, “are we supposed to do that? We are, after all, short on five barrels of rum already. It will be a struggle just to give out our current rations, let alone promise more. Or have you already forgotten?”

Zoe glanced at Simon, waiting for a reaction. His face, however, remained impassive, betraying no signs of surprise. _Does he already know about the missing barrels? How?_

 _Do not let the Captain come to today’s meeting,_ Dinkleshire said. Realization dawned on Zoe. _Because the perpetrators will be present._

Dinkleshire nodded smoothly. “I understand, Master Neil. Do not worry, as I said before, I have already discussed this matter with the Captain. She has expressed anger at the missing barrels, but she also recognized the importance of maintaining fair wages. I am dealing with the missing barrels, do not worry. They will be found in time, and no one will be aware except for us.”

Neil muttered something, sharp and guttural, under his breath. He turned to Simon. “What do you think, Simon?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” blurted Zoe. “Moira said the same thing.”

Simon widened his eyes. Slowly, he turned towards Zoe, features cat-like and sharp. Zoe suppressed a shudder. 

“You have already spoken to the Captain about this? When?” His voice carried a slight undertone of suspicion.

“When I went to drop off the Kid. I told her that Jonathon Chelsea told me that people wanted a raise. She grumbled about money, and I yelled at her to think outside the box. She’s good at that sort of thing.” She raised her chin, meeting Simon’s stare with a glare of her own. “Of course I spoke to Moira before coming here. I’m here on her behalf, am I not?”

“And the missing alcohol barrels? Did she say anything to you about those?” cut in Neil.

Zoe shook her head. “No. It’s the first time I’ve heard about it.” She looked at Neil, eyes doe-eyed and bright. “That’s insane. I can’t believe we have a thief on board. This is definitely not ok. I wonder who did it?” _C’mon, guys fall for it._ Neil nodded sympathetically, while Simon raised a scarred eyebrow. 

Zoe scowed internally. _Damn you, Simon. I wish I could read your thoughts right now._ She blinked. _Wait a second_ . Pointing at Simon under the table, she muttered an incantation. _Detect thoughts,_ she silently whispered. _Simon, what are you thinking?_

A myriad of emotions suddenly filled Zoe’s mind, leaving her stunned and overwhelmed, grappling for purchase. When she finally regained her senses, she noticed that the conversation had already shifted. Simon and Neil were ignoring her and were instead focusing their attention on Dinkleshire, who was droning monotonously.

“And then I will showcase my findings to the Captain, upon which we will present our findings to the pirate’s council. Believe me, I wish nothing more than to see the success of this crew and for justice to be served. I believe that my plan is the most effective way to do so.”

 _Liar,_ Simon’s voice shouted in Zoe’s head. His voice was ragged and sharp, as if he was catching his breath. _Liar, liar, you foolish man. What are you even doing?_ Zoe glanced at Simon, who’s impassive face betrayed nothing.

 _Get a better poker face, will ya?_ Moira’s face flashed through Zoe's mind, accompanied by the selkie’s ever-present lazy smile. _Now Simon, he’s got a good one. Why don’tcha copy him, Zoe?_ She couldn’t help but agree. _It’s on,_ Zoe thought. _Two can play at this game_.

“Dinkleshire?” she spoke up, gathering the attention of the other three. Clearing her throat, she started speaking, voice shaky. “I’m a little bit unsure,” Zoe said, eyes crinkling in fake concern. “I think this is a big issue, and I think we need to solve it with everyone. That’s so scary, I can’t believe there is a thief on board. I don’t know how I’d solve it. I don’t think any of us do, really. But I trust Dinkleshire, and I think he knows what he’s doing. He’s never let me down before. If Dinkleshire says he’s got it, he’s got it.” She blinked back some crocodile tears. “I support this plan, both as Zoe and as Moira’s representative. I’m sure Moira would say the same thing, if she were here.” She wiped away the tears. “It’s scary, thinking about this, but I think it’s going to be alright, if we follow Dinkleshire’s plan,” she finishes, beaming brightly at the other three. _There_ , she thinks. _How’s that for a poker face?_

Neil nodded. “I agree with Zoe. As much as it pains me to say it, I think that Dinkleshire’s plan is good. We don’t want the perpetrators to find out about our investigation.” He smiled. “Good work, Dinkleshire.That sounds like a good plan.”

 _Oh my god_ , Simon’s voice said exasperatedly. _You idiot, we’re supposed to work against them, not with them. What are you doing?_

Neil continued, seemingly oblivious to Simon’s internal turmoil. “I can send another crewmember to assist you, if you need. Maybe Arthur, he has a sharp eye for these matters.”

 _What are - oh well, what the hell. Yes, Arthur is a good choice. He can be our eyes and ears, make sure that they don’t get any closer._

Blood rushed into Zoe’s ears. _Well_ , she thought dimly, _that does it._ _First Arthur, then Neil, then Simon. Seems like we got our perpetrators._ She remembered the list in the red journal. _Who else is involved?_ _Jimmi? Jonathon? Darra?_ Zoe’s hands shook slightly under the table. _I have to tell Hunkle. I have to tell Moira._

The room fell silent. Outside, the bardic bird trio started to sing, an invitation for their daily three o’clock performance. _Four hours already,_ Simon’s voice said quietly. _I wonder when this meeting will end._ Zoe secretly nodded in agreement.

“If that is all,” Dinkleshire said, satisfied, “then I think we can call this meeting finished. It is almost three, after all, and I do not want to miss my tea.” He stood up, movements lazy and calculated, and walked towards the door. Turning around, he gave the trio a small smile. “Goodbye now. We will meet again soon.” With a quick wave, he disappeared from view.

Neil burst out into laughter. “Oh, that snake! He thinks we don’t know what he’s doing! Trying to play the hero and solve the mystery before anyone finds out,” Neil chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes. “Imagine that! An old man like that, playing the hero! What is he, Don Quixote?” He laughed even harder. “Man, if he wants a mystery so much, why doesn’t he have a hand at finding out who stole my keys?”

 _I took the keys._ Simon’s voice rang out. _I took the keys and you didn’t notice at all?_

Zoe opened her mouth. Before she could think, she blurted out, “Simon stole your keys.”

Neil choked on air, his jaw open in shock. Simon flinched. A wave of emotion crashed into Zoe’s mind, a furious tempest of anger and surprise and fear and betrayal constricting her heart and knocking the breath out of her lungs. _Shit. Did I say that out loud?_

Before anyone could respond, Zoe squeaked out an apology and ran out the door.

* * *

“And then I said it out loud, like the dumbass that I am!” Zoe wailed. Micheal, Mike, and Keel nodded sympathetically. The four bards were sitting on top of the forecastle deck, sharing a pile of sunflower seeds. Still in shock over her mistake, Zoe had wandered around the ship for an entire hour before running into the three brothers. Having finished yet another successful performance, the birds immediately rushed to their friend’s aid, offering her sunflower seeds and a listening ear. The three birds sat, nodding sadly and cooing sympathies, glowing softly in the five-o-clock twilight.

Micheal fluffed his feathers in sympathy. “Don’t worry, I think he understands. My brothers here chirp away all my secrets.” Mike and Keep clamored in protest, but Micheal ignored them. “I get mad at them sometimes, but at the end of the day, I don’t mind. We’re family, after all, that’s what we do.” 

“And besides,” added Keel, puffing up his small body, “we’re bards! We live to sing the truth, not hide away in deception!” Although Zoe knew he tried to look otherwise, his small and round body, coupled with his currently puffed-up feathers, made Keel look like a tiny ball of fluff. Zoe couldn’t help but laugh. 

Mike smiled and flapped his wings. “Yeah! What does Simon know about bards, anyway?”

“What do I not know about bards?” A smooth voice called out from behind them, causing the bards to jump in surprise. Turning around, Zoe saw Simon, standing tall and imposing with his arms crossed. A black eye was starting to form on his right eye, and his lip was swollen. His face was impassive, but Zoe could make out an echo of a smile on his lips.

“Jeepers creepers, Simon! You scared the daylights out of me!” exclaimed Keel as Mike stuttered out an apology. Simon lifted up an eyebrow. “Am I really that frightening?”, he asked, amusement lacing his words.

“I don’t know, Simon,” Zoe joked, hesitation belying her words. “That black eye is pretty scary, don’t ya think?” She widened her eyes, cringing internally. _Mouth, meet foot._ “I mean, it’s not that bad though!” She scrambled up. “Anyway.” She paused. “I’m assuming you want to talk to me?”

Simon nodded. Silently, he turned around and walked towards the stern, on the opposite side of the ship. Zoe stared at Simon’s retreating figure.

“Well?” said Mike, pushing her back gently. “What are you waiting for?”

* * *

“That’s a pretty ugly bruise you got there, Simon,” offered Zoe. The two were walking towards the stern at an almost inhuman speed, Zoe barely keeping up with Simon’s long strides. “Who did you get it from?”

Simon scoffed. “Neil, of course. Who else? He was quite mad about the incident with the keys. Said that he’d kill me right then and there, if he could.” Simon shook his head. “I’d like to see him try. But no matter. I told him the truth, and the matter was settled.” Reaching the stern, Simon stopped abruptly and stared out into the horizon.

Zoe leaned against the railing and warily watched the sea. Arcs of frothy blue and ridges of deep green, bleeding wounds of water formed where the ship cut into the sea, streamed out below her. Farther away, the wounds turned into scars, calm ripples coiling and crashing with the untouched waves of the sea. 

Simon broke the silence first. Glancing at Zoe, he quietly asked, “How did you know about the keys?”

“Pardon?”

“How did you know about the keys?” His voice was calm, almost artificial-sounding in its utter neutrality. “Only one person knew about it.”

“Um,” responded Zoe, elegantly. She racked her head for an appropriate response. _Who could have known?_ “Oh, well, Moira told me.” Simon nodded, satisfied. _Right answer, good. But wait, why was he even looking for the keys in the first place?_

“But wait.” said Zoe. “That still doesn’t explain the black eye, or Neil’s reaction.”

“You seem quite surprised, Zoe, is something the matter?” Simon tilted his head, as if in a challenge. “I would think the truth is self-explanatory, no?”

 _Ok, Zoe, think_. “But wouldn’t that implicate Moira as well? What about her?”

Simon narrowed his eyes, but hummed in agreement. “That is true, I did not consider that. The truth, as is, would implicate the Captain, you are correct. But it makes sense, once everything is considered.”

“The reason why I took the keys _\- not stole them, thank you very much -_ was because of the Captain’s monthly key-check. As you are aware, we undergo monthly counts of all the keys to make sure that none are lost or unaccounted for.” He paused. “Usually, key-checks are notified well in advance. This way, all of the officers - since they are the ones that usually have keys - can make sure to check for their keys in advance, and then report their findings to us. I’m sure you’ve done this, of course.”

 _First time I’ve heard of it,_ secretly snarked Zoe. _Since when did we have this policy?_ _Maybe I just never noticed it._

“Unfortunately, because of next week's pirate council, we were all quite busy, and frankly speaking, completely forgot about the key-check. It was not until the Captain mentioned it a couple of days ago that we remembered.” He looked meaningfully at Zoe. “Are we in agreement so far?” Zoe nodded her head.

“Good. Now, on to the Captain. As I also explained to Neil, the Captain was restricted to her cabins all day because of that sprain, and tasked me with running the key-check. It’s usually quite simple, go to each individual with a key and ask. I was able to account for everyone’s keys - Jimmi, Dinkleshire, and the like - except for Neil’s. In fact, I could not find him all day. We must have just missed each other. I went looking four times, and each time I failed to find him. Even the Captain went out and searched.”

“Moira? But that can’t be right, she was in her quarters all day. And she could barely walk that day, her leg was in a splint.”

“That is what I thought as well. But I did see her leave the captain’s quarters, or at the very least someone who I assumed was her. You see, I was on top of the crow’s nest as part of the watch. I looked down, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a cloaked figure walk away from her cabins and down towards the hull.” He shrugged. “I understand that it sounds impossible, but it’s quite logical. If it’s not the Captain, who else could it be?”

“Fair point,” said Zoe. “But does that really justify you stealing Neil’s keys?”

“Well, including the Captain’s visit, it was five times at that point, and I still had no response. I was concerned that he was purposefully avoiding me, and that something was wrong with his keys. I reported this fact to the Captain, and asked for permission to personally check for his keys. She seemed surprised, but agreed. That is why I temporarily had his keys. It really was temporary, a couple of minutes at most. Unfortunately, he came in before I had time to finish the check and put the keys back in his locker. Luckily, he did not notice me, but it did cause the miscommunication you saw today.”

“And that’s it? What did he say?”

“Well, he was quite angry at first, but later agreed that my actions were correct. I understand now that he had extenuating circumstances and that it was all a misunderstanding, but we had some suspicions at that time, you see, that forced us to be wary and take extra precautions. In any case, I believe my actions were justified, and so I would appreciate it if you did not say that _I stole his keys_.”

Ignoring the last part, Zoe furrowed her brows in confusion. “You guys had suspicions? Of what?”

Simon fell silent, staring at the horizon. Zoe tapped her fingers against the oak railing. By now it was completely dark, silver stars twinkling in the sky. The crescent moon floated gently above her, basking the ship in a ghostly glow. She wondered if Moira was finished with her poker game by now.

“If you don’t have anything else to say,” she said quietly, “I’ll take my leave now.” She looked at Simon expectedly. “Well?”

Simon bowed down his head. “I would do anything for Ophelia,” he suddenly choked out, words heavy with emotion. “I would do absolutely anything.”

Zoe blinked, unsure. “Uh, yeah. I know that. I think everyone knows that, dude.” She gestured towards his throat. “Your locket is proof enough.”

Simon grasped at the locket, eyes clouded in emotion. “I don’t think I’ve loved anyone like I love Ophelia,” he whispered, voice rough. “And I don’t think I ever will.” He suddenly turned, facing Zoe. Taking a step forward, he started to speak, as if a man possessed. “Everyday I look to the sky and see a ghost of what could have been. Everyday I look at the ground and break my heart and curse my soul. Everyday I look out into the horizon and wish for it to be night already, because then the stars will come out, and maybe, if I am lucky, I can see a shooting star, and wish for my Ophelia to come back.” He grasped Zoe’s shoulders. “Look at the sky above us! The stars above! They fall and dance and cruelly taunt my fate, but at least they give me the illusion of hope! What good is the sun, what good is the day, but a scorching hot truth and burns at one’s soul? What hope, what comfort is there then, but the sweet burn of poisonous alcohol? Do you understand, now, why I curse the day and love the night, why I scorn attention and disappear so easily into the shadows?”

Something in his eyes seemed to break. “I drape myself in black and swear allegiance to the night, for night is when the stars gleam and fall in cruel hope, whispering promises of fulfilling my fanciful cries and the nightmares that plague my sleep. I am entrapped in their mesmerizing glare, and for a moment I can believe that I can do something, _anything_ , that I do not cry these bitter tears in vain. I love the night because the night is merciful, because the night is the only time I can think of Ophelia and let myself _go,_ drown myself in something other than the dazzling heat of liquor and regret, drown myself in the jagged seductions of hope.”

His eyes blazed in hope and despair. “I think I love her more than anything else in this universe. She is my universe. My home. My everything.” He gasps for breath. “Every moment without her is a moment without a home, a moment trapped in a foreign universe, a moment suspended in nothingness. Do you know how terrifying it is? When you lose your home, your everything?”

Zoe gently peeled off Simon’s hands. “Yes, Simon,” she said quietly. “I know.” Her shoulders shook. “Please do not remind me.”

“Ophelia,” Simon cried, voice deep in anguish. “Oh, Ophelia! Ophelia, my love!” He grasped for the oak railing and took sharp, jagged gasps, shoulders heaving and face red in unshed tears. “Forgive me, my love, forgive me.” 

Zoe stood awkwardly. Reaching out, she slowly patted his arm, whispering quiet words of comfort. Slowly, agonizingly, his mask of calm returned, pieces of an unbreakable, impenetrable wall, and his breathing returned to normal. He straightened his back and faced the horizon. Zoe retracted her arm and started softly at Simon.

“Ophelia is my home,” he said quietly. “And I lost her once. And I lost myself with it.” His voice was one again calm and collected, but Zoe knew otherwise. “But I am not the only one who has lost a home.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look around you, Zoe. Hunkle, Moira, myself, Dinkleshire, Arthur, countless others. We are Kin because we are lost souls. Souls without a home, without a place to go, without a place to be.” He blinked slowly. “But we are Danu’s Kin, because we are Danu. In our actions, in our words, in our ties. Ties that bind and tie that grow. Look around you. Everyday, we grow, weave together a net of camaraderie and trust, create a holy sanctuary of belonging. We are Danu’s Kin, because we create life out of nothingness. We create a home out of nothingness.” 

He turned and faced Zoe. “Do you see? Ophelia is my home, will always be my home, but for better or for worse, this ship is my home as well. It is home to all of us.” His voice was steady now, vibrant energy pulsing through his words. “Listen carefully, for I will not repeat myself. I already lost my home once. I do not intend for it to happen again, or for anyone to go through the same pain that I did. This is my home, Zoe, I will do anything in my power to protect it.” His eyes, piercing and bright, glowed in righteous fury. Moonlight flooded his figure. “I hope you share the same sentiment as I do.”

Zoe was overcome with a strange sense of familiarity as a complete stranger, covered in armor, sword in the air, appeared in her mind. Standing in the moonlight, proud and defiant, Simon somehow reminded Zoe of this complete stranger, an alien warrior from an alien land. _In another life_ , she thought, confused and yet comforted, _you would have been a good paladin [2] _. 

“I will,” she said. She hoped her voice didn’t crack. “This is my home, too.”

“Good,” said Simon. A thunderstorm was brewing in his eyes, threatening to break. _The calm before the storm_. Chills ran up Zoe’s spine, fear and anticipation pulsing through her veins. 

A pregnant pause.

“In that case,” Simon voice's crackled, quiet and thunderous. “I hope you can explain to the pirate council tomorrow why you, Hunkle, and Dinkleshire stole five barrels of rum.” 

Zoe’s eyes widened in shock, mind reeling. _What?_ “I don’t know what you mean,” she responded, voice hollow and legs wobbly. She felt the ground below her feet drop away. “I didn’t steal it, I swear!”

Simon glared sharply. “Do I need to spell it out for you, Zoe?” He started ticking off his fingers. “First, the meeting with Hunkle and Arthur, and Hunkle’s behavior with the Captain during poker.” _Did Hunkle spill the beans?_ , Zoe wondered dimly. Simon continued speaking. “Then, Dinkleshire’s squirrelly insistence on handing all matters regarding this case. Finally, your participation and behavior in today’s meeting, conveniently explained by the Captain’s opportune absence.” He stopped, his smile bitter and biting. “Do I need to go on?”

Zoe gaped at Simon. “You’re wrong,” she stuttered out. “What’s going on? What do you know? What are you doing?” She narrowed her eyes. “You can’t be accusing us, anyway! Hypocrite! I saw what you were doing today during the meeting, you squirrelly bastard!”

Simon closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. “Do not confuse my actions with yours, Zoe. My job is to maintain order and justice on this ship. Believe me when I say that I will do anything for this ship; but I am careful, and I am measured. I do not tamper with evidence, engage in reckless lying, or engage in extrajudicial vigilantism. Thanks to you, there is a very real chance that the perpetrator will get away with the crime and will not be brought to justice.” He opened his eyes and glared at Zoe, cold and calculating. “Unless this was planned from the beginning, a perfect coverup to a perfect crime?”

“No!”, she blurted out. “You can’t possibly think that!” She struggled to breathe, eyes wide and panicky. “Look, this is all a misunderstanding. We’re innocent. We were just trying to help! We were doing research. Just like you.” Her voice rose in pitch. “You have to believe me. Listen, we know who the perpetrator is. We have the evidence. I’ll prove it to you in council tomorrow. We’re innocent. Please believe me.”

“Is that so.” Simon pursed his lips. “Well, in that case, I will listen to your evidence tomorrow. I really hope you do know who the perpetrator is, Zoe, like you say you do. Theft is treated very seriously on this ship.” He cocked his head in parting. “Remember my words. Goodnight.” With that, he walked away, disappearing into the dark night.

Zoe stood, frozen in shock.

“Well,” she said, after a while. “That’s a threat if I’ve ever heard one.” 

_I have less than 12 hours to find the perpetrator and prove our innocence._ Zoe shook her head. _Calm down, Zoe. We have evidence of our innocence and the names of the perpetrators. Neil and Simon and Arthur. Justice will be served, and all will be well._

Simon’s words rang into the night.

_I will do anything for this ship._

“But if it's not them,” whispered Zoe. “Who could it be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] _Keikaku_ is plan in Japanese.
> 
> [2] For an explanation of why this occurred, please see [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25435573/chapters/61688875) (link leads to another work on a new page).
> 
> Wow, that one was a long chapter. Thanks for sticking around. Next up: Pirate Council drama


	9. Day 4 - The Pirate Council: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head at the council meeting. Some truths come to light.

_Suspects so far_

  * **_Captain Moira (biggest alcoholic on this ship) (?? Where is Hunkle?? confirm when found)_**
  * _~~Jonathon Chelsea (seems like he drinks)~~ (Actually doesn’t drink??)_


  * ~~Jimmi Hendrix (who is noted to be severely offended by being on this list)~~


  * Arthur (also an alcoholic) **GUILTY**


  * Simon (drinks when thinking of Ophelia) **GUILTY**


  * Neil???? (Would be pissed if he found out rum is gone) **GUILTY**


  * ~~Darra??? (Likes to drink while repairing the ship)~~



* * *

"We will now begin The Pirate Council.” Moira said, her clear voice carrying across the deck. “As this is not the first Pirate Council meeting, I will only summarize the rules in brief. The council is run on parliamentary procedure, because although the English are bastards, they know how to run a meeting. This means that all actions of the council will undergo a vote, which will be decided through a simple majority. Please use your placards when voting. As usual, debate will be in the form of moderated or unmoderated caucus. Please refrain from interrupting others while they are speaking, and if possible let us stick to the topic at hand. Note passing is allowed, but keep the noise to a minimum. All decisions will be compiled at the end of the committee as a resolution, which will be binding for everyone, unless stated otherwise. We will have recess at the council’s discretion. Does anyone have any questions or concerns?” She tapped the table twice with a gavel. “As there are no questions or comments, we will now take roll call. First…”

The sun was shining brightly, and a gentle sea breeze rolled through. A long rectangular table was temporarily set up in the middle of the deck. Moira sat alone at the head of the table, wearing a coat of brilliant red. In front of her was a wooden gavel and two hourglasses. The rest of the crew sat along the remaining three sides of the table, each with a notepad and a placard. Zoe sat on the middle-left side of the table, across from Dinkleshire and Jimmi Hendrix. Next to her sat Simon, face impassive, black cloak gently swaying in the breeze. Darra sat to her right. Hunkle was, conspicuously, absent.

 _I wonder where the Kid is_ , thought Zoe as she scanned the crowd. The changeling had been missing all day, much to the worry of Zoe and Moira. _I hope they’re all right._ She made eye contact with Dinkleshire, who nodded minutely. Next to her, Simon quietly raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Zoe straightened her back. _Right. Focus._ She stared at Dinkleshire’s coat pocket. _I hope that he has the red journal with him._

“The captain would look favorably upon a motion to open debate. Yes, Darra.” 

“Thank you, Captain. Motion to open debate.”

“By captain’s discretion, this motion passes.” She tapped the gavel once. “The floor is open for debate. Do we have any motions or directives at this time. Yes, Ossian.”

“Thank you, Captain. Motion to discuss improvements to the quality of breakfast, 10 minute 30 second speaking time.”

“That is in order. Any other motions or directives. Yes, Kieve.”

“Thank you, Captain. Motion to discuss increased access to the injury fund, 9 minute 45 second speaking time.”

“That is in order. Yes, Boyd…”

Zoe sighed. This was going to be a long meeting. 

* * *

“And thus, because of the British army’s competition with Dutch sailors in the North Sea, I propose that we focus our raids on that region, ultimately heading towards Norway. Thank you, I yield my time to the Captain.”

Zoe yawned and continued doodling. Her portrait of Madam Selma was, if she could say so herself, _absolutely brilliant_ , and frankly, a much better use of her time than whatever the hell the council was debating about. Simon went rigid upon first seeing the picture, but at this point just ignored it, saying nothing.

“Thank you, Isabella. With that, this discussion has ended. I will be taking more points or motions at this time. Yes, Noreen.”

A weasel scurried up Zoe’s leg, carrying a small note in its mouth. Dropping the note unceremoniously onto her lap, it quietly squeaked once and immediately disappeared. Zoe carefully picked up the note and opened it, shielding the contents from Simon’s view. _I’m ok,_ it said. And then: _watch out for the Captain. She’s guilty._

 _Ah,_ Zoe thought distantly, mind reeling in shock. _So that’s where the Kid went_. 

Zoe subtly glanced at Simon, who was looking straight ahead at Dinkleshire, mouth turned in a small frown.

 _Well_ , she thought. _I guess I can still prove my innocence after all_.

She tucked the note into her pocket and went back to doodling, completely missing Micheal’s nervous frown and, after a quick scribble, his note to Moira.

* * *

Hunkle ran across the hull, paying no attention to the sounds of the council above them. _I need more evidence. I need more evidence. Moira can’t get away with this. But who to ask?_ Everyone on board was at the council meeting, including Moira. _I can’t go there. It’s too dangerous. She’ll find out_ . Hunkle had been careful all day, making sure to stay out of the captain’s sight. _I need to be careful, I need to gather more evidence._ They wracked through their brain for ideas, desperate for solutions. _But who? Who to ask?_ The changeling suddenly stilled, a single individual coming to their mind.

_Arthur._

It was common knowledge that Arthur never showed up to pirate council meetings. No one knew exactly why - when asked, he would smile and wave his hands, saying something about _unspecified security reasons_. He was absolutely the last person Hunkle wanted to question, but they felt like they had no choice.

 _Arthur is Moira’s old first mate_ , they reasoned. _Maybe he’ll say something useful to me._ They thought of his personality, paranoid and cranky, and grimaced. _No, he won’t say anything useful_. An idea glimmered in their mind.

 _Maybe he won’t tell me anything,_ they thought. _But he will tell Moira._

* * *

“We are understaffed below deck!” said Darra passionately. Heads nodded in agreement. “We rely too heavily on cannons in battle, but this is not a sustainable solution! You cannot expect us to have six men for twelve cannons. For firing, perhaps one is enough, but it takes two people to reload it! The current distribution severely limits our firing capacities and puts the lives of our crew at risk. That is why I am passing around a directive calling for a new distribution, one that acknowledges the importance of our cannons and properly accounts for the weapons we have. Please consider being a signatory if you agree. Thank you.”

“Thank you. Perhaps you can make a self-firing cannon, Darra, and save us all the debate. Anyone else who wishes to speak.”

Darra stood up in anger. “Perhaps you can be a better Captain, instead of saying such frivolous things, and actually see what’s going on below deck!”

Moira sharply tapped once with the gavel, then slowly scanned the room, eyes hard and dark. “Please respect parliamentary procedure, Darra. Anyone else who wishes to speak, please raise your placard.” 

No one raised their placards. Darra opened her mouth in outrage but said nothing. She slowly sat down, and then elbowed Zoe in the ribs. “ _Well?_ ”, she whispered. “ _Could you help me out a bit?_ ” Behind her, Zoe felt Simon’s heavy gaze boring into her skull, as if in warning.

 _No,_ she realized. _It wasn’t just Simon._ Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe saw Moira staring at Zoe, eyes beady and face twistd into a frown.

Zoe recalled Hunkle’s note and felt a surge of anger. She lifted up her placard. Moira’s eyes fractionally narrowed.

“Yes, Zoe,” Moira said, voice a half-note lower than usual. “You have the floor.”

“Thank you,” she said, voice clear and defiant. “I agree with Darra. The current plan needs to be changed. I do not think self-firing cannons are the appropriate attitude to take here, Moira.” Moira’s eyes narrowed further. “I support this new plan, because it prioritizes what is actually important. Too long have we focused just on what goes on above deck. We must give _everyone_ a voice, not just the ones _we want to hear_. It’s time for a change, don’t you all think so? We need to let the truth come to light.”

Moira glared at Zoe, expression unreadable. Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe saw Simon close his eyes.

* * *

Arthur sat on a pile of rope and looked up at the looming figure in front of them.

“Why aren’t _you_ at the council meeting, _Moira_?” retorted Arthur, taking a swig of rum.

“Er,” Moira said elegantly, coughing slightly, “We’re on recess right now. I came down because I was concerned about your absence.”

Arthur yawned. “After that entire fuss you made about me being on council, and banning me from entering on the threat of death? You suddenly care about my absence?” he chuckled. “I’m surprised you want me back.”

Moira’s head hurt. _Well_ , thought Hunkle, _it’s more like Hunkle’s head hurts. Moira’s head is doing who-knows-what upstairs._ The changeling, who was currently transformed into the pirate captain, tried their best to maintain a straight face. Hunkle was confused, to say the least. They thought they knew Moira well, but Arthur seemed to be on an entirely different level, referencing things that seemed to be far too personal in nature. Hunkle could only guess in reply. 

“Oh, well,” they stuttered, “I changed my mind.” Arthur looked at them strangely. Hunkle fought down the urge to apologize. _Moira, what are you doing? What did you do with Arthur?_

“Huh,” he said after a while. “Maybe you can teach an old sea dog new tricks.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that really the only reason why you’re down here?”

Hunkle-as-Moira yawned lazily. “Well, if you so ask,” they said, looking around conspiratorially, “it’s also about the rum barrels.”

He chuckled. “That again?” He picked up a bottle of rum and tapped a finger against the glass bottle. “Went through another one of these already?”

 _Aha._ “I’m being serious, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed gruffly. “I’m telling ya, Moira, cut it out. You and I both know that they’re not guilty.” _Them? Wait, what?_ “I don’t know what your goal is. They’re not like _he_ was. Lighten up a bit, goddammit. It’s all in your head.” Hunkle-as-Moira stared back, stunned. “Oh, come on, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. How long was I your first mate, again? I can read you like an open book. That’s why you don’t want me up there in your council meetings, don’tcha? I make you human, break that insufferable shell of yours. But you don’t want that, do you. Don’t wanna seem weak.” He took a long angry gulp of rum. “Well I’m telling ya, you’re already weak. That shell makes you weak. I don’t know who you’re trying to fool, but you’re not fooling me.” He spit on the ground. “Get out of my face, Moira. Go back to your little council. I don’t want to deal with you.”

Hunkle-as-Moira scrambled to find words. “Just tell me,” they barely made out, “just tell me if they know or not.”

Arthur grumbled under his breath. _What the hell,_ he mumbled. Out loud, he added, “Zoe and the others don’t know that you’re accusing them of conspiracy and mutiny, no.”

Hunkle-as-Moira took a step back in shock. _No. Not Zoe, not them._ “Oh,” they croaked out, sounding winded. Hunkle’s brain whirred to action. _Conspiracy? Mutiny? Why? For - oh. The investigation. Oh no. Oh no oh no._ Hunkle thought of Moira’s actions yesterday. _The stares. The olive chips. Oh no oh no._ Their skin scalded in shame and fear. _I need to go to the council meeting. I need to stop this before it’s too late._

“Thank you, Arthur,” they stuttered. “I knew I could trust you.” They turned around towards the door, breaking into a run. _Hurry, Hunkle, Hurry. Before time runs out._

“Oh, and by the way?” Arthur called out into the darkness. “You’re gonna need a better poker face than that, Kid.” 

Hunkle stilled. _What in the world-?_ “How did you know it was me?” they blurted out, voice high-pitched and eyes wide.

Arthur chuckled, low and melancholy. “Oh Kid,” he said. His eyes gleamed in the darkness. “The Captain lost her trust in me long ago.” He waved his hand in farewell. “Go knock some sense into Moira, will you? And tell her I said hi. We need to have a little chat sometime.”

Hunkle paused, chewing their lip.

“Why don’t you go say hi yourself?”

* * *

“We will now move into voting procedure. All in favor of directive _Temporary Pay Increase with Alcohol_ , please raise your placards now.” A pause. “All opposed.” Another pause. “All abstaining.” A two pauses. “With 11 for, 7 against, and 2 abstentions, this directive passes.” Moira’s gavel tapped twice. “The directive will come into effect immediately at the end of today’s session. Dinkleshire, any last words as the principal sponsor?” 

Dinkleshire nodded and smiled. “I, for one, am glad that this will occur. We do need change, and this is the change that the people want. We cannot always rely on the old ways.” Jimmi nodded his head enthusiastically and clapped. “Thank you, Master Hendrix, for your support for this change.”

Moira cleared her throat. “Now,” she said, voice suddenly taking on a strange, almost robotic, neutral quality. “Any more points or motions at this time.”

Zoe looked at Dinkleshire and nodded. Before she could raise her placard, however, Simon raised his first, expression unreadable.

“Yes, Simon.”

“Motion to notify the council of the recent theft of five alcohol barrels and open investigation.” A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Moira nodded. “At captain’s discretion, this motion passes. Simon, what do you have to say on this matter?”

“Well,” he said. “Five barrels of rum disappeared roughly five days ago at night. Although this is not an egregious quantity of rum, it is still nonetheless concerning. We are not sure who the perpetrators are, but so far our suspects are,” he pointed at Jimmi and Darra, “these two individuals, Darra O’Malley and Jimmi Hendrix. According to my findings, these two were closest to the storage room at the time of the theft. Jimmi was in the kitchen, and Darra was in her lab. We have no other suspects at this time. I yield my time to the captain.”

Darra froze in shock. Jimmi stared at Zoe, eyes wide and shaking. Zoe blinked, confused. _We have no other suspects at this time? But that’s not right, last night he said that -_

“That’s not true!” blurted out Zoe. “That’s not what _I_ found!”

Another murmur rippled through. Moira called for attention, banging the table with her gavel. “One at a time! One at a time!” 

“Zoe, what do you say?” Moira looked at Zoe and asked, eyes blazing. Zoe swore that she looked mildly pleased.

Zoe stood up, faced the crowd, and started to speak. “It’s not Darra, and it’s not Jimmi. They’re innocent. I have the proof.” She talked at length, describing the information gathered throughout the week. “It’s not them,” she finished at last. “That’s all I know.” She looked at Simon. “I don’t know who did it. I know you’re expecting me to know, but I don’t. But I know who’s innocent, and isn’t that good enough?” She looked around at the crowd, whose faces all showed various degrees of shock and disbelief. “The alcohol barrels are missing. No one is at fault. That’s what our findings say. That’s what our investigation says.” She paused, catching her breath, and smiled weakly. “And just like Simon said, right? Five barrels is a lot of alcohol. But it’s not egregious. I know we just passed a resolution about this, but it’s not that bad. Five barrels is, at the end of the day, just five barrels. We can still easily rearrange our rations, do some raiding, whatever the council sees fit, to compensate.” She stood up straight. “Five barrels of rum are missing. But no one is at fault. I yield my time to the captain.”

A large sailor stood up, bald head gleaming in the light. “But wait,” said Ossian, voice suspicious. “How do we know that you didn’t steal the barrels?” Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Zoe squared her shoulders. “I know what you’re going to say. It sounds suspicious that we did an investigation, put ourselves off the list of suspects, and then immediately declare that there are no perpetrators. What sort of investigation is that? Sounds guilty.” Moira said nothing. Zoe narrowed her eyes. “You may think that we are guilty, but we have the evidence to prove that we are innocent. That is the council’s place to decide - but after everything has been revealed, not before.” More murmurs.

Moira listened, face impassive. “Zoe,” she finally said, after Zoe’s speech. “Who did you work with in this investigation?” Zoe stuttered out the names, caught off guard. Moira hummed in reply.

“How did you undergo this investigation? What are your methods?” Zoe moved to speak, but was cut off by Moira.

“Did anyone on this list know that you were undergoing an investigation, when you conducted these so-called interviews? Or were you planning on keeping the evidence hidden in a journal of some sort?”

Zoe gaped. “How do you know about the red journal?” she blurted out.

Moira looked at Zoe, strangely pleased. “What is this red journal you refer to?”

Zoe had the distinct feeling that she had been played.

Moira pressed on. “What is this red journal? Who has the journal?” Zoe sat, silent. Moira narrowed her eyes in response. “Very well then. Dinkleshire, you are also a collaborator, are you not? What is this red journal? Who has it?” Moira pinned him down with a threatening glare. Dinkleshire shifted slightly. Moira smiled.

“So you have it, don’t you.” Dinkleshire looked away. “Hand it over, Dinkleshire,” she said slowly, holding her hand out. “Captain’s orders.” Dinkleshire winced, but refused to move. 

“Dinkleshire,” Moira said, voice low and ominous. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

He handed the notebook over.

Moira lazily flipped through the book. She stopped at a page, paused, then lifted her eyebrows.

“Zoe, you said there are no suspects, correct?” Zoe nodded mutely. “Then, why are there the names of myself, Simon, Neil, and Arthur on here? I thought your results were inconclusive. In that case, it is quite odd, no, that you coincidentally listed the individuals with the highest leadership positions on this ship? ” Zoe widened her eyes in shock.

“Arthur’s not in a leadership position!” She blurted out, then snapped her mouth shut. _But the rest are_ , the admission hung in the air. Furious whispering burst from the crowd.

Moira placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward, eyes dark and threatening. 

“If I am reading the situation correctly,” she said, voice like honey, “there are five rum barrels that went missing. You volunteer yourselves to find it, undergo a hidden investigation, and conclude your findings publicly that no one is at fault. In the meantime, you privately name the highest-ranked officials as guilty.” She stared, eyes judgemental and impassive. “Pray tell me, Zoe, how does this not count as conspiracy?”

“What,” Zoe whispered, voice hoarse.

Moira started ticking off her fingers, speaking slowly. “You said it yourself, you underwent the investigation in complete secret, and then promptly charged the highest-ranked members on this ship with a crime for which, in your words, _no one is at fault_ . Second, you and your co-conspirators made speeches today that encouraged dissident and change, which would seem normal were it not for the _investigation_ you revealed to us today.” Moira held up a piece of paper with Micheal’s handwriting and started to read. “35 stares at Dinkleshire that lasted at least 30 seconds, all made right before or after both of your speeches. 27 notes by Dinkleshire to Zoe, who was writing something during the entire meeting.” Moira put the note down. “Finally, the Kid, who seems to have conducted almost all of the interviews, is conspicuously absent, even though their weasel familiar managed to visit and hand you a note.” She raised an eyebrow. “Need I say more?”

“You’re wrong,” stuttered out Zoe, panic overflowing in her voice. She ripped out the picture of Madam Selma from her notes and threw it at Moira, who picked it up calmly. 

“Madam Selma. And of course, _she_ was known for her loyalty, no surprises there.” She stared down at Zoe. “And what about the note from the Kid?”

“Why do you have a note from Micheal,” Zoe continued, ignoring Moira’s words. She turned to face the bird, who was ruffling his feathers uncomfortably. 

“The Captain wanted me to watch over you,” Micheal said, squirming in his seat. “And so I did.” He looked away. “She said it was for the good of the ship.” His voice dropped down to a whisper. “I’m sorry, Zoe.” Zoe looked on in shock, then gasped as the other two brothers also started to squirm uncomfortably. “We’re sorry, Zoe,” the trio whispered.

“Hand the note over, Zoe.” Moira said ominously.

Zoe handed the note to Moira, heart filling with dread. 

Moira placed the note on the table. “Well. The Kid says I’m guilty.” She exhaled sharply. “I wonder where they are, Zoe, Dinkleshire? Do you have anything about this? Or were you so confident in your attempt of a mutiny that you sent the Kid away to celebrate early?”

 _This is a setup,_ Zoe realized. _This has been a setup all along_.

Zoe turned to Simon and gasped, pointing a finger towards his chest. “Last night, you said that you suspected us!” She pointed another accusatory finger at Neil. “You and Neil and Arthur!” She scrunched her face, almost bursting into tears. “I thought we were talking about the alcohol barrels, not whatever this farce is!”

“I am sorry, Zoe,” he said quietly. “I had no choice. Captain’s orders.”

“This is a setup!” Zoe desperately pleaded to the crowd. “I swear! I wanted to find the alcohol barrels! This is all that this was! There is no mutiny! There is no power grab! There is no conspiracy! You have to believe me! It was just a simple investigation! I just want to know who the rum thief was!”

Cries of shock and jeers of anger burst from the crowd.

“Is that what they call mutinies now.” Moira said, eyes serene and relentless. “ _Investigations?_ ”

“You set this up, Moira!” Zoe screeched. “God damn you! You set this all up! You smug bastard, and you’re getting away with it!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Zoe.” Moira cut in, voice smooth as ice. She tapped her gavel once against the desk. “Now, on Captain’s discretion, motion to enter voting procedure to remove the conspirators from this ship. All oppose, say I.”

“Wait!” Hunkle’s voice suddenly echoed on deck. “Wait, you can’t do that, you hypocrite!”

Zoe turned her head around and smiled. On the deck stood Hunkle, sunlight filtering through their hair, enveloping the changeling in a golden glow. Next to them stood Arthur, blinking in pain from the sudden light.

“Hello, Arthur, nice to see you here” Moira’s voice cut in smoothly. “What made you finally decide to join us today?”

“Arthur was never here because you forbid it, Moira!” Hunkle responded shrilly. “But I brought him here! Because he knows the truth!” Moira jerked her body back, body taut with tension.

“Enough, Moira,” Arthur said, gently. “You call me the paranoid one, but look at you. Enough. Stop this farce. You know this is wrong.”

Moira paled, jaw dropping, then reddenned. She turned to Zoe, pointing a shaking finger. “You set this up, didn’t you,” she ground out. “How dare you.”

“What do you mean?”, asked Zoe cautiously, bewildered. She jumped as Simon laid a soft hand on her shoulder, fingers curled protectively around her collarbone. She looked up in fear, but smiled when she saw Simon glaring at Moira, as if here saying, _no, Captain, you set this up yourself._

Hunkle raised their fist into the air. A gentle gust of wind fluttered through their hair, gently lifting it up. Standing in the gentle glow of the sunlight, soul overflowing with bright and righteous light, Hunkle looked like one of the ancient gods, Zoe thought in awe.

“You hypocrite! How dare you stand there, calling for justice, when you stand and laugh as the judge, jury, and executioner? What investigation have _you_ done? Who did _you_ notify? What purpose did _your_ trial serve? Did you not do the same thing that you accuse the others of doing?”

Madam Selma’s portrait fluttered slightly in the sea breeze. _Trust these two._ Madam Selma’s voice suddenly rang in Moira’s mind. _Because it is the only faith you will ever find._

“If anyone should be kicked out,” Hunkle cried out, voice shrill and desperate, “it should be _you_!”

The deck erupted into chaos.

“I knew it,” Darra said. “I thought Arthur’s absence was fishy! And with Zoe, too! It all makes sense now. The Captain’s working against us! No wonder she never listens to us, that goddamn-”

“Oh come on,” boomed Neil, “you’re only saying that because you’re friends with Zoe!”

“No,” cut in Jonathon, “I agree with Darra. Clearly, this is because of the Captain’s humors, which are completely out of balance-”

“Or maybe she’s just a snake!” shouted Mike. Keel chirped in agreement. Micheal shook his head in objection. “I don’t think so! Think about it - how would Zoe and the others know about the missing barrels if they’re not guilty? It makes no sense! What do you say, Jimmi?” Jimmi Hendrix slinked into the background, clearly wanting to avoid any conversation.

Dinkleshire closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. _If you are going to be a snake,_ _Captain,_ he thought ironically, _perhaps do not be so loud about it._

“ORDER! Moira suddenly yelled, voice booming about the chaos. The slam of the gavel and the sound of a large crash cut through the noise. Everyone stilled, desk suddenly becoming quiet.

“Captain,” quietly said Simon, as if in a trance. “Captain.”

Chest heaving and hands shaking, Moira was hunched across the table. Her chair, thrown towards the ground in anger, was completely broken, shattering to pieces upon impact. The wooden gavel, cleanly cracked in half, lolled uselessly to the side.

She looked up, eyes deadly and violent. “One hour recess. We will meet again at 4. All who oppose, say I.”

No one moved a muscle.

“With no objections and no abstentions, this motion passes.” She slammed her hands down onto the table. “Council adjourned. We will meet again at four'o'clock sharp. Good day, gentlemen.”


	10. Day 4 - The Pirate Council: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. // Trust these two, because it is the only faith you will ever find._

Moira stormed into the captain’s quarters, body shaking in uncontrollable rage. Simon moved to follow her, but she quickly pushed him away, mind blank in fury and hurt. She ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes, hands clenched tightly into fists, as the changeling’s words repeated through her mind.

_ If anyone should be kicked out, it should be you! _

She slammed her foot against the floor in frustration, splint shattering to pieces. She suppressed a grimace as a jolt of pain ran down her body. Her leg burned.  _ Her skin burned. Her ship burned.  _

_ Her ship was burning, smoke clogging her nose, the smell of gunfire and the screams of dead men ringing in her ears. _ Moira choked, suddenly unable to breathe.

Vaguely, Moira heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Light footsteps, the click of a lock, then - 

“What was that about,  _ Moira _ ?” A voice calmly called out from behind her back.

_ What was that about, Moira?  _ Moira hesitated, mind tangled up in some distant memory.  _ Now, where did I hear that before? _

Moira whirled around, coattails spirling out, body numb with fire. Zoe stood in front of her, arms crossed and glaring venomously. Chin raised and posture defiant, she blocked the doorway in challenge. 

Moira’s heart burned with a nauseating wave of deja-vu. 

_ A man stood, chin raised and posture defiant. He smiled. _

“Leave,” Moira said, voice a raspy rage. “Leave, get off this ship, don’t ever come back.”

“No,” the siren. “We’re not letting you leave until you calm down and  _ come to your senses. _ ”

Moira looked around the room, bile and panic bubbling up her throat. The windows were closed. The door was blocked by Zoe and Hunkle, who quietly cowered behind the siren. 

_ Come to your senses, Captain.  _ A hated voice rang out, a distant voice from a distant past.  _ Calm down. This has gone on for too long. _

Moira pulled out her sword and growled. “Be quiet,” she said, eyes flashing. “I don’t talk to traitors.” She curled her mouth in disdain. “Do you know what we do to traitors on captain ships?”

The voice laughed, smooth and ominous.  _ I don’t know, Captain. What do you think I’ll do to you? _

Hunkle gasped. “Zoe’s not a traitor!”, they cried out desperately, rushing to stand in front of Zoe. “Zoe’s not a traitor! Can’t you see, we were just trying to help! And you can’t say anything, your behaviour was just as suspicious!” 

“Suspicious?  _ Suspicious? _ ” Moira pointed an accusatory finger at Hunkle. “Listen, you!” she snarled, mouth twisted into a horrifying sneer. Face blotchy and sticky with tears, the changeling stilled, eyes wide and body shaking uncontrollably. “Insolent brat. Alien. I can’t believe you’ve done this. Coming up with that little clever trick of yours. Don’t think I don’t know what you did. Conspiring against me like that, against  _ me _ . After all I’ve done for you? I take you in and take care of you and you repay me like  _ this _ ?” She pointed the sword at Hunkle, face stormy and horrendous.  _ Oh _ , thought Hunkle.  _ So this is a pirate. _ Moira glowered in stormy hate. “I can’t believe you,  _ after all we’ve been through? _ I hope you take responsibility for the mutiny you’re causing, goddammit, or  _ I will make sure you will _ .” Moira took a step closer to Hunkle, metal heels clicking on the floor. “I should kick you off this ship, you terrible-”

Zoe, face deathly still, smoothly stepped in front of the frightened child. She drew out her dagger and pushed it against Moira’s throat, digging it into the skin. A drop of blood trickled down the dagger and onto the floor.

_ The man smiled, lazy and victorious. A dagger skewered his right eye, digging into the sensitive flesh. Blood trickled down his eye socket and onto the floor. _

Zoe narrowed her eyes, gaze grave and judgemental. “Remember,  _ Captain _ ,” she spit out, voice hideous in hate and angelic in love, “the Kid is just a child. They are not the target of your misplaced hate.” She stepped closer to the shocked pirate captain and smiled, teeth blinding in the afternoon light.  _ I am a siren _ , the smile crooned. Moira shuddered involuntarily.  _ Do not think you are so special. I have eaten plenty of people more worthy than you. _ Moira suppressed the urge to collapse in frightened awe.

“When will you learn,” Zoe’s voice quietly thundered in righteous fury. “That your actions have consequences? That you are the creator of your own ghosts?” She grasped the collar of Moira’s coat and pulled hard. Moira grunted in pain. “Yield and calm down, or I will make you do so.”

_ Yield, Captain. Your time is over. _

Moira glared, but dropped her sword. She slowly raised her hands in surrender. “I yield,” she whispered, voice deep and raspy. “Now get the dagger away from my throat.” She narrowed her eyes, paranoia clouding her vision. “Traitor. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. First council, now this. Where’s your loyalty? This is ridiculous,” she sneered.

Zoe pushed the dagger deeper into Moira’s throat. “You bastard,” she spit out, face contorting into rage. “ _ You bastard. This isn’t about you. THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU.”  _

Moira pulled her hand back, hand clenched in a fist.

“Guys, stop fighting. Please.” Hunkle whimpered. Tears dripped down their cheeks. “I’m sorry, Moira, I’m sorry.” The words came out in a wrangled sob. “We were wrong, Moira, we won’t do it again, so please, just please stop fighting.” 

Zoe suddenly let go of Moira’s coat and punched her in the throat. Moira stumbled back from the sudden force, choking out blood. Without taking her eyes off the selkie, Zoe rushed towards the crying child and gathered them in her arms. Squeezing them tightly in a hug, she softly patted their head, whispering gentle words of comfort. Zoe glared at Moira, positioning her body so that she blocked Hunkle from Moira’s view. Moira started at the two, jaw tense.

The room was deadly silent.

“Look at yourself,” the siren said softly, as to not scare the crying child further. “Look at yourself, and tell me you are right. Listen to the child’s apology, and tell me you deserved it. Think of your actions, and tell me what you did was fair.”

Moira swallowed, working her jaw. “I’m the captain. I had to do it. For the crew.”

“No,” Zoe responded, frustration welling up. “No, this has never been about the crew. Nothing about what you did was  _ for the crew _ .” 

“For the crew?  _ For the crew _ ? For what crew do you weave a web to ensnare us in a crime we didn’t commit, bring others unwillingly into a plan of personal vendettas? For what crew do you ban Arthur from attending council meetings because you don’t  _ trust him _ , your  _ former first mate _ ? For what crew do you raise a sword and your temper towards a  _ kid _ , threaten to kick them off this ship, for the simple crime of standing up to your tyranny? Tell me,  _ Captain _ , for  _ what crew  _ are you actions?”

“You don’t understand,” Moira whispered out. “I had to do what was right.” 

“No,” she shook her head violently. “Nothing about what you did was right. For starters, your attitude towards the child was  _ unforgivable _ , do you hear me,  _ unforgivable.  _ They are just a  _ child _ and you are an  _ adult _ and you should know better. Shame on you. Shame on you. Abusing your power like that,  _ shame on you. _ ” 

Zoe’s eyes burned in flame.

“And secondly, speaking of _unforgivable_ _abuses of power_ ,” she continued, voice dark and stormy, “care to explain to me what _key-checks_ are?” She jeered, clicking her tongue. “ _Key-checks?_ What even _are_ key-checks? Since _when_ do you do _key-checks_? Do you _really_ feel the need to micromanage _absolutely everything_ , even _our keys_?”

Moira tensed, hackles raised. “How do you know about that? You don’t need to know! It’s none of your business,” she ground out. “It doesn't concern you.” She scoffed, anger and panic crushing her ribcage.

“Of course it concerns me,” Zoe replied in exasperation. “I’m a member of this crew!”

_ Calm down, Captain. You’re acting ridiculous. You’re just imagining things. Everything is alright. Your actions concern me, Captain.  _ A look of shock and pity.  _ I’m a member of this crew, Captain, how could you say such a thing? I have every right to be concerned. _

“I know,” Moira whispered, caught off-guard. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. “You just never knew about them,” she retorted, teeth gnashing. “And this is exactly why you never knew about them! Key-checks are for the safety of the fucking ship and the fucking crew! Just like everything I do.  _ Everything I do!  _ Everything I do is to protect you, don’t you see?” Blood rushed into her ears, overwhelming her senses. Her voice rose in pitch, hysteria colliding with unwanted memories. “Everything was fine,  _ everything was fine _ ! We had no problems, until you had to go and  _ have this goddamn investigation _ !” She pointed at Zoe, hands shaking, eyes glazed and unfocused.

Joseph Was stood in front of her, body shimmering and translucent, drenched in Moira’s blood. She reached out with a shaky hand hand, covered in the blood of Joseph’s eye.  _ Oh Captain _ , the translucent figure said, icy blue eye sneering in pity. Moira’s stomach seared with pain.  _ Everything was fine, until you had to ruin it all with your little investigation. _ Moira glanced at her stomach and saw a translucent sword sticking out. Moira recoiled in fear and rage. 

“I’m the Captain,” she screamed, blind in frenzy. “What right do you have, questioning me like that?” She wondered, distantly, who exactly she was talking to.

Zoe flinched, visibly hurt. Moira’s eyes snapped awake. Joseph and the sword vanished. Her stomach filled with dread, pulse pounding in a dull roar. She opened her mouth to speak, but wilted under Zoe’s unforgiving glare.

Zoe spoke, voice low and deadly. “How are you such an  _ idiot? _ What do you mean,  _ what right do I have? _ How are you  _ so fucking blind _ ?” Zoe scoffed. “You’re the captain, but this is a  _ pirate ship _ , not some stupid British galleon, you stupid seal. On this ship, we’re  _ equals.  _ Don’t you  _ dare _ speak down to me like that  _ ever again _ , or  _ you will regret it _ .” 

Zoe walked towards a table, standing peacefully next to Moira in the center of the room. Cards were scattered haphazardly on top of the table, remnants of yesterday’s game with Hunkle. Moira slowly backed away and rounded the table, standing numbly on the other side. Zoe slammed her hand down onto the wooden surface. Moira clenched her fists. “Why can’t you see?  _ Why can’t you see _ ?”, Zoe yelled. “You’re so good at poker, so good at reading others, and yet you are  _ so bad _ at seeing your own actions! How is that even possible?” 

Zoe yanked over a chair and sat down, fuming. Moira, mind blank, moved to follow, and sat across from Zoe. She faintly registered the sound of Hunkle sitting down in a far corner of the room, back turned to Moira.

The siren and the selkie stared at each other, air crackling with tension. “Look at yourself!” said Zoe, ripping through the hostility with jagged venom. “Think about what you’ve done for a minute! You had  _ Simon  _ break in and  _ steal his crew member's keys _ under your orders! You had  _ the birds _ spy on me today,  _ against their will mind you _ , and  _ forced Dinkleshire  _ to hand over the notebook, again  _ against his will _ ! They all went along out of duty and loyalty to you, out of respect to the words  _ captain’s orders _ , and here you are, undergoing your  _ own investigation,  _ your own clever  _ web of lies _ , putting the reputation and trust of your crewmembers at risk, as if they were  _ pawns _ ? You never thought once that  _ hey, maybe, this is not ok _ ? That  _ hey, maybe I need to chill with this blatant abuse of power? _ ” Zoe laughed, sharp and ironic. 

“Do you know what the worst thing is? I look at this, I look at your actions, and I think, what is this  _ for _ ? All I’m left is with confusion.  _ Why _ do you want to control everything so badly, rule with an iron fist? Didn’t that fail once already? What would even happen, do you think, if you let go for once? What do you think would  _ change? _ ”

_ Arthur sat across from Moira, a bruise starting to form over his eye. Moira’s foot ached, sprained and swollen. “Danu’s Kin, huh.” Arthur said, eyes distant and affectionate, alcohol bottle in hand. “It’s not Freya’s Calling.” He looked out into the horizon and smiled. “But maybe that’s not such a terrible thing.” _

Moira swallowed and closed her eyes, paralyzed with dull shame. Zoe continued, oblivious to Moira’s change in demeanor.

“Are you so  _ paranoid, _ ” she said, voice taking on a hint of desperation, “that you think we’re going to pull the rug under your feet the moment you turn our back? Do you not  _ trust us? _ Is that it?  _ After all we’ve been through? Do you not trust us enough? _ ”

“But you  _ did _ pull the rug _! _ ” Moira surged up, eyes flashing in hurt and anger. She stood up and winced, leg flaring in pain. She sat back down again. Her shoulders trembled. “How dare you play the righteous hero.  _ How dare you _ accuse me of not trusting you, when you did the same to me.” She waved her hand around the room in anger. “Explain to me, then, what were your actions? What the hell is all this? Do you really expect me to believe that you put in all this time, all this effort, all for  _ five barrels of rum? _ ” 

Her voice cracked. “I just want a ship that doesn’t descend into mutiny or destruction! Is that so much to ask for?” Her chest heaved, groaning loudly in the silence. Zoe closed her eyes and exhaled loudly. Across the room, Hunkle tucked their legs against their chest, trying not to cry.

“I don’t think you stole the rum,” Moira said at last. Hunkle piped up. “But what about you, Moira? Did you steal the rum?” She shook her head. “No, Kid. I didn’t.”

Moira pulled out the red journal from her coat and gently placed it on the table. “I don’t think anyone stole the rum. Your evidence. It’s solid.” 

“But then,” asked Hunkle, voice barely above a whisper. “Who stole the barrels?”

Zoe snorted bitterly. “I think, Kid, that the barrels of rum are the least of our concerns.” 

Moira frowned, but nodded. “I didn’t think you were planning a mutiny,” she admitted quietly. “Neither did the others. Simon, Neil, Arthur - none of us did. You were acting suspicious, to be sure. But you weren’t acting guilty.” She swallowed. “They followed you because I told them to. But I think they knew, too, deep down, that you were never guilty.”

Moira sighed. “I don’t know who stole the rum, and frankly, at this point, I don’t particularly care. I don’t think I ever really did, to be honest. Well, in the beginning, maybe. No one wants a thief on board. But that was before I heard about - about the investigation, and suddenly I stopped. Caring about the rum.” She stumbled over her words, mouth dry. “Suddenly, all I cared about was stopping you before it was too late. You were right, Zoe. This was a set up. I set you up.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “You saw an investigation, but all I saw was a plan, something hidden in the shadows, a spark of revolt. I thought I had to do something, catch you in the act, stop the conspiracy lest another ship of mine burns up into flames. You can live without alcohol. You die in a mutiny.” She opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling, blinking back tears. “But it seems I was wrong. You were right, Zoe. It was an abuse of power. I shouldn’t have doubted you. All this time, you saw the alcohol and I -” she choked. “I saw my ghosts.” She licked her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Zoe pursed her lips. “I’m not the only one you need to apologize to,” she said simply.

Moira sagged against the chair and looked across the room at Hunkle, who was staring at their hands. “Can you forgive me, Kid?”

“I don’t forgive you,” Hunkle whispered. They looked up, eyes hurt. “What you did was hurtful. I was scared. I liked you and I trusted you and I was  _ scared _ . I thought we were  _ family _ , if only for a while. ” The sniffed. “Maybe in the future I will, maybe I won’t. I can’t promise you anything. And even if I will, I won’t forget.” 

Moira opened her mouth, then closed it. She swallowed, body tense, and looked away. “Alright,” she said. “That’s ok with me.” She looked down at her hands.“I’m sorry,” she said. Hunkle swallowed, tears forming in their eyes once more.  _ No, _ they heard Moira mutter. Hunkle watched out of the corner of their eye as Moira took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and looked up, staring straight ahead at the changeling. Her eyes were filled with guilt and regret. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice heavy with emotion. “I’m sorry. I got mad, and I took it out on you, and that was - that was not - that was wrong of me.” She closed her eyes, body tense. “I shouldn’t have done it, but I did, and I am sorry.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry. I won’t ask for your forgiveness. I’m - I’m sorry.”

Silence descended upon the room once more. 

Hunkle frowned. Something was missing.

_ Her reliance on alcohol is understandable,  _ they recalled Jonathon saying.  _ An attempt to cure her internal imbalance.  _

“You know,” they said quietly. “Someone once told me that you have to open the wound for it to properly heal.” They blinked, eyes filled with a sadness and longing beyond their years. “What’s your wound, Moira?”

Moira thought of Joseph’s sword, sticky with blood and hate, ghastly protruding from her stomach. She thought of her own dagger, stained with blood and hate, spiking out of his eye socket.

_ You are the creator of your own ghosts. _

Moira slumped against the back of the chair, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. A cry of anguish, low and guttural, ripped out of her throat, and her eyes burned in unshed tears.  _ Oh _ , she thought numbly.  _ Oh, I see now.  _ She thought of her actions, she thought of Joseph, and suddenly she understood. In frightening, terrifying clarity, she understood. 

_ You have to open the wound for it to properly heal. _

“Oh, Hunkle,” she said, voice quiet and bright. “Oh, Hunkle, oh Zoe, oh Simon, Neil, Dinkleshire, Darra, Arthur, oh god Arthur, oh Micheal, Mike, and Keel…” The names of the crewmembers rushed out of Moira’s mouth, an unstoppable torrent of emotion.

_ You know, we are quite similar, you and I. _

“Oh, Danu’s Kin,” she whispered. “I am so sorry.”

Moira buried her head in her hands and cried.

The gentle sounds of the sea quietly meshed together with the heaving, shaking sobs of the selkie. Hunkle, tired and exhausted, slowly drifted to sleep. Zoe sang a song, sad and wistful, of letting go.

“The Kid’s right, you know,” Zoe said softly, once Moira’s tears had somewhat abated. Moira flinched, stifling a sob. Zoe looked at the hunched figure in front of her and sighed softly in pity. “I hope you can heal better this time.”

The wall clock ticked softly. It was 3:45.

Moira stared at the clock, eyes glassy. “We must go soon,” she said, voice ragged and hollow. “The meeting will start at 4.”

“I know,” replied Zoe, looking at the sleeping child. She thought of the previous afternoon and grimaced. “God. What have we done? They think we hate each other.” She shook her head. “There’s gonna be a mutiny, if we’re not careful. And we still have the rum barrels to deal with.” She stared at the doorway in exhaustion. “What are we going to do?”

_ What are you going to do? _ , the words floated in the air, unsaid. Moira blinked, slowly coming back to life. “I think,” she said carefully, eyes resigned and hopeful. “I think I know what I have to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, life is about learning that shitty experiences are not an excuse for being an asshole.
> 
> First quote is by Friedrich Nietzsche, second quote is by Madam Selma.


	11. Day 4.5 - The Pirate Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, change is all about letting go and taking the first step forward.

The air crackled with tension when the trio returned. Moira stood at the front of the table, face grave, and scanned the deck. The crew was split into two groups of equal size, the table in the middle just barely keeping the two groups from coming to blows. Arthur was asleep, leaning against a mast pole. Zoe shifted Hunkle, who was sleeping in Zoe’s arms, closer to her chest. She looked at Moira, eyebrows knitted in concern.

Aside from brief assurances, the captain had not spoken a single word to the siren.  _ Why don’t you tell us, _ she refrained from yelling.  _ I thought secrecy was the reason why we got here to begin with? _ The words crawled up her throat, threatening to escape. Zoe bit down on her lips, drawing blood. 

Moira picked up the gavel, now broken in two. She stared at the gavel for a while, eyes cloudy and hazy with emotion. She looked up and blinked, face smoothing into an impassive mask. She looked back briefly, nodded once at Zoe, and then started to speak.

“Gentlemen,” she said, voice clear and neutral, “I am here to announce that the charges of conspiracy against Zoe will be dropped.” Angry murmurs resonated from the crowd. Moira raised a hand, silencing the crowd. “I understand what the council thinks, that the charges are dropped because of extrajudicial reasons, of friendship that Zoe, Hunkle, and I share. It is true that we three share ties together. Normally, I would agree with the council that all charges must be processed through the system. However, I believe that in this case, the case should not be processed through the system at all.” A quiet murmur from the crowd. “For a case to be brought to trial on the council, the trial must be fair and just. But I cannot, in good conscience, consider this trial fair and just, because the charges themselves are extrajudicial in nature.”

The murmurs became louder. “What evidence do you have?” called out Ossian. “The charges seem just and fair.”

“The charges are not just and fair. They never were so. The charges seem just and fair, gentlemen, because I am the captain, and my words carry a weight that I have used to my advantage.” The murmurs turned into loudly hushed whispering.

“In fact, I will admit: the charges were never fair, and I raised them anyway, knowing that they were never fair. The barrels are missing - this is true. Zoe and others launched an investigation to solve this - this is true as well. In fact, I learned of the investigation earlier this week. Yet, instead of treating it as a captain should, I saw the investigation as a threat to my power. I took advantage of my knowledge and today’s council meeting to present the information in a way that would result in at least a trial, if not a guilty charge of conspiracy. In short, gentlemen, I manipulated the case so that the investigation seemed to be a conspiracy, even though it never was. The case should not be put to trial, because it never should have existed in the first place.”

The deck fell silent.

“It was an abuse of power. Plain and simple, my actions were an abuse of power. I took advantage of my station and used it to create a case that I knew I could win, because I controlled the narrative. No, members of the council, this is entirely of my own doing.”

“Zoe, Dinkleshire, Hunke, I apologize. You could not have, would not have, won in a trial had one occurred, no matter how just and fair the trial may be. I set this up, so that you would be guilty. That was wrong, and I apologize. I took advantage of my station to remove threats to my power, an action that put the lives of this crew at stake. As a captain, I should have had the crew’s best interests at heart, and yet I did not. Because of that, I believe that I am no longer fit to be captain.” She took a breath. “As a consequence of my actions I will announce my resignation, which will come into effect as soon at the conclusion of this council meeting.”

The crowd went dead silent, shock marring everyone’s faces.  _ What _ ? Zoe wanted to shout.  _ What are you doing, Moira?  _ She thought of Moira’s strange resigned expression from earlier and suddenly understood.

Moira continued speaking. “I propose that we hold elections immediately after to elect a new captain. I will not be running, and will stay on as a crewmember.” Everyone continued to stare in uncomprehending shock.

“I’ve had enough,” bellowed Arthur, suddenly jolting awake. He lumbered over to Moira, peered into her eyes, and then slapped Moira hard across the face. Moira stood back in shock, cheek burning.

“You’re not fucking resigning Moira,” Arthur said, voice angry and wistful, “Cut the crap. Stop running away. Own up to your actions. I can’t believe you’re running away like that, Moira. Isn’t that what resigning is? Running away. Being a crewmember. That’s not a reset, you know. You seem to think that you can just reset, run away, and that’ll make everything better. Does it, huh? What happens if you resign? You leave a system that can be exploited by the next person, a captain that might not have the ship’s best interests at heart. I know why you’re resigning, Moira. You think that if you’re gone, it’ll be alright, problem solved. Well, listen here, I was stuck on that ship with Joseph Fucking Was for too long-” Simon’s eyes widened in shock. “-and guess what I fucking learned? It doesn’t matter who the captain is, if the system’s fucked, then the bastard in charge doesn’t matter. I see you, Moira. You’re a bastard, but you’re an alright bastard, and at the very least I’d rather have you than some other unknown bastard.” He waved his arms around. “We elected you captain. I elected you captain. Do you know what that fucking means? At least be a good enough captain that the next bastard can’t be so much of a bastard. You leaving would be the opposite of that, you hear me? Stay on, fix your actions. Show that you actually fucking care. At least, if you’re serious about resigning, do so after you have fixed the mess you have made. Be a better captain before you start spewing nonsense like that. And you,” he pointed at Zoe, “you’re not completely innocent either. Next time, don’t go sneaking around like that. Think about what it looks like.”

The crew went silent. Arthur clapped Moira on the shoulder. “Now if you’d excuse me, I’m going downstairs. It’s too fucking hot up here on deck.” He stomped down the ship, leaving a dazed crowd in his wake.

“Well,” said Zoe suddenly. Her mouth tasted of iron. “I guess Arthur does have a point. Even though I’d never say so.” She gently placed the sleeping child down, then slowly walked towards the selkie. “You were right too, you know, a little bit. We were acting suspicious.” Murmurs rippled through the crew. Zoe glanced at Dinkleshire, who nodded reluctantly. “I’m not saying you’re not to blame. Because you are. But, we could have done better too.” She took a deep breath and looked at the expectant crowd. “Our investigation was innocent. There was no mutiny. But we did purposely try to hide the investigation. And that’s not right. But that can be fixed. Anything can be fixed, so that we don’t make the same mistakes twice. So that in the future, others won’t make the same mistakes twice.”

“You know,” piped up Jimmi. “I take some of the blame too. I...I told them to hide the investigation, don’t let anyone know. I was afraid of the repercussions, from those higher up. Didn’t wanna fucking die,” he admitted quietly. Simon closed his eyes, and Moira’s shoulders sagged slightly. Jimmi continued, voice shakier. “But I shouldn’t have hidden it. The investigation should have been done as a team, with the whole fucking crew. That’s - that’s my fucking fault. I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “But Zoe’s right. That can be fixed.”

“I suppose,” Dinkleshire added with a cough, “that other methods would have been more suited for this investigation. I do apologize. I guess I can -” he winced “-also be more open. More-” he winced again “-democratic. After all we are -” he looked nauseated “-pirates.” He cleared his throat and looked away. 

Moira stared at the gavel, cracked in half. “Perhaps Arthur is right,” she said at length. “The situation was my fault. I take full ownership of it. But the situation was also able to happen in the first place, because I have privileges that I should not have.” Nodding resolutely, she extended one half of the wooden gavel to Zoe. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. I still don’t think I’m fit to be captain, not really. I broke your trust. But Arthur’s right - it’s not just me that was wrong. I mean, I’m wrong too. But, the entire system is wrong too.” She offered the gavel to Zoe. “This gavel - I should never have had it to begin with. To insinuate otherwise, that I more than anyone have the right to silence and control, is just continuing the cycle. Zoe, as a representative of the crew, as a counterbalance to me, do you take this gavel?”

Zoe took the gavel and, without sparing a glance, threw it straight overboard. The wood sank silently into the water.

“No,” said Zoe. “I refuse. No one should have the power. We are pirates, and we are, first and foremost, equals. I should not have that gavel, nor should you, nor should anyone on this ship. I can’t trust you, no matter how much I want to, as long as you have that power over us. No, we need a better system.” She looked around the crew passionately. “Does the council not agree?” Some heads bobbed in agreement.

Moira looked at the gavel in her hand. “You are right,” she said, voice filled with emotion. “You are right. I should not have this power. Neither I, nor anyone else.” With a nod, she threw her gavel overboard to the opposite side. “So that the two halves will be connected nevermore,” she said, voice distant. 

She looked at the crew. “Danu’s Kin, I am sorry. I have forgotten that we are kin, first and foremost, and that means we are equals. I should not have done what I did. I have broken your trust, and abused the position of captain. And I will work, actively, to make sure it never happens again. I do not expect to regain your trust immediately, nor will I accept the same amount of authority as I had before. No, I will work, if the council allows it, to solve this problem completely, so that this can never happen again, for anyone.” She looked at the crew, at Hunkle’s sleeping form, at Zoe’s tiny smile of approval. “Working together,” she added, voice in awe, “and helping each other, as equals. For a more just ship, and a brighter future.”

“I propose to the council,” Moira said. “That we meet again, in two day’s time. Not as a council, but as a constitutional congress, where we can create a constitution for this ship. One that severely limits the power of the captain, that makes sure that no-one is higher than the other. That respects the voice of others, one that punishes fairly. One where people will not fear mistakes, but we will work together to solve them. Where we are all equals, as it should be. All will have a voice, and none shall feel inferior. We are Danu’s Kin, after all, and kin we shall be. Thank you. I yield my time to the council.”

* * *

“In conclusion,” Dinkleshire called out, reading from a scroll. The moon glittered above, the cloudless sky twinkling in delight.  “Today’s resolutions are

  1. To agree to a constitutional convention held two days from now, where we will create a new constitution, founded on the principles of total equality, mutual aid, and the socratic method
  2. The creation of a judicial council of peers, randomly selected each time it meets, to organize and to conduct trials
  3. A temporary pay-raise with alcohol, which has an added amendment of
    1. Changing the alcohol from rum to ale, as to account for the missing rum barrels
  4. Publicly acknowledge the innocence of Hunkle, Zoe, Dinkleshire, and Jimmi Hendrix, and proclaim them innocent from charges of conspiracy
  5. Stripping the pay of Moira Trelian for 6 months as a result of her crimes of deception, as well as limiting her alcohol ration to one handle a day for 6 months, or face heavy fines
  6. Publicly declare that no-one is at fault for the missing alcohol barrels
  7. Restructure the ship’s budget and rations to account for the five barrels, so as not to cause undue strain
  8. Set raiding priorities to ships with alcohol barrels, as to quickly make up for the missing rum barrels



All in favor, say aye.”

The entire ship rang with an unanimous aye.

“In that case, I declare that the resolutions have been passed, and are now binding. Does anyone have any last words?”

Hunkle opened their eyes and yawned. “Is the meeting over yet? It’s so dark already. I’m hungry and I want dinner,” they mumbled drowsily.

Moira laughed. “I think you’re right, Kid. Well, in that case, I propose that we close debate and conclude this meeting. All in favor? Oh wow, yeah, everyone’s in favor. We’re all hungry. Then, with that, I declare that this meeting is over!” The crew sighed in clear relief and started to disperse. Although the previous tension was not completely gone, Moira noticed, it seemed to have significantly improved. An undercurrent of hope, of newfound change, seemed to sprout out of the crew, golden tendrils that reached out for one another in tentative trust. Trust that promised a brighter future. 

_ You have to open a wound for it to properly heal. _

_ Danu’s Kin. Not Freya’s Calling. _

_ Trust these two, because it is the only faith you will ever find. _

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Moira walked over to Hunkle and grinned. “C’mon, Kid, let’s go get some dinner. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to go through it without drinking all of my daily allowance at once!” She winked, then laughed when Hunkle rolled their eyes. “Yeah right, Moira,” the changeling responded, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And we’ll find the missing alcohol barrels too.”

A sharp crack of thunder suddenly reverberated through the ship. Moira pulled out her sword and stood at guard, eyes narrowed in wary confusion. Around her, the rest of the crew also pulled out their weapons, looking around in various stages of confusion. Moira looked up at the cloudless sky and frowned.

“Moira?” Arthur’s voice echoed from below deck. “I think you might want to see this.”

Moira immediately rushed down the stairs, the rest of the crew trailing close behind. Upon reaching the cannon hull she suddenly gasped, her entire body jerking back in shock.

In the middle of the hull, clustered together, were seven barrels, redwood planks gleaming bronze in the darkened hull. Moira could just barely make out the word “R U M” scrawled hastily on the barrel tops, large letters written in red. A small figurine of a shark, carved out of driftwood and wearing a crown of miniature shark teeth, was placed gently on top of the frontmost barrel.

“Since when,” Moira said slowly, after a long pause, “do we keep our rum in barrels of redwood?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested in understanding how the new constitution functions, I recommend reading _The Conquest of Bread_ by Peter Kropotkin.


	12. Day 5 - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after.

Moira woke up to a splitting headache. She blinked slowly, squinting in the unforgivingly blinding light. Body aching and headache worsening, she moved to sit up, but was immediately assaulted with a wave of nausea. Wiping her mouth, she squinted her eyes even further - _damn it, why was the sun so bright?_ \- and tried to focus. 

The deck was an absolute disaster. Chairs and plates in various stages of disrepair littered the deck. Mugs, cracked and dirty, rolled in time to the swaying of the ship. The ship’s large white sails were brought down and configured into a strange, tent-like dome. Decks of cards were strewn haphazardly, surrounded by piles of cracked hardtack. A small fire was burning, the stench of burning alcohol staining the air. The floor was glossy, covered in an unknown substance. 

In the center of the deck were seven barrels of alcohol, all broken save one.

Moira looked down. Her red coat was nowhere to be seen. She closed her eyes, groaned, and collapsed onto the floor. The floor felt strangely sticky. _What the hell happened last night?_

“So you’re finally awake, Moira!” A cheerful voice called above her. “It’s been two days. You look horrible.” 

Moira opened her eyes and groaned again. Hunkle was sitting on their heels and grinning devilishly at Moira, eyes wide awake and sober. They had a strange glint to their eyes, as if they were laughing at Moira’s misfortune.

“Oh for the love of -” Moira shut her mouth, suppressing another wave of nausea. “What happened last night?”, she barely croaked out.

Hunkle frowned and sighed. They stood up and slowly walked towards the barrels, carefully stepping over the sleeping crewmembers on deck. Simon was curled up into a ball, cocooning himself in his black cloak and clutching his locket. Arthur sat on top of a pile of cards, eyes closed and leaning his body against a large pile of hardtack. Next to him was Neil, head resting on a smaller stack of hardtack, who was mumbling something about _goddamn poker cheaters_ under his breath. Jimmi Hendrix, who had a shark figurine stuck in his ear, was suspended in midair, tangled up spectacularly in the ship’s ropes. Darra was slouched against a wooden beam, whimpering softly and cuddling a bag of dried peas. Jonathon was sleepwalking back and forth across the deck, tripping over coils of rope and repeating the phrase _medical humors_ over and over. Zoe was sprawled across the deck, snoring quietly under a red coat and surrounded by buckets of fish. Dinkleshire was nowhere to be found.

Hunkle stopped and pointed at the cluster of barrels. “You don’t remember anything?”

Moira rubbed her temples, struggling to recall the events of last night but remembering nothing. Another wave of nausea overcame her. “Goddammit, Kid, what’s going on?”

Hunkle sighed in exasperation. “I knew that it was a bad idea, “ they said, talking to no-one in particular, “but who listens to me? It’s fine, Hunkle, they said. It’s just seven barrels, they said. I know we already restructured the plan to account for the missing five barrels, so these seven barrels became fair game for everyone, a surplus we could freely use however we want. But does that really mean we had to go ahead and drink all seven barrels _at once?_ ” Hunkle kicked the remaining intact barrel in frustration. “Maybe I should have drunk something last night, too. Why am I always the babysitter?”

The final barrel fell apart with a large crash. Moira winced, noise further aggravating her headache. Jonathon paused, tripped over some rope, and tumbled to the ground. He proceeded to roll back and forth across the deck, muttering something about leeches, eyes closed all the while. Everyone else continued to sleep soundly.

Hunkle continued to rant, stomping on the redwood planks. “And now look at this mess. This is worse than the time Belian decided to challenge everyone at the Cutlass Tavern to a drinking contest, or that time with Riq when -” they looked down and suddenly paused. In the middle of the destroyed barrel was a small glass vial, green and tightly corked. Hunkle carefully lifted the vial up and shaked it. The sound of paper rustling was punctuated with the rattling of - _something bony?_ Hunkle peered into the vial but saw nothing, save for a small roll of paper. 

“Moira, you might want to see this.” Moira groaned in response. Hunkle huffed, rolled their eyes, and walked back to the half-awake captain. They crouched down and waved the vial in front of the captain’s face.

“What in the hell-” she slurred, eyes unfocused. “Gimme here. Probably just a prank.” She shakily planted a hand to the ground and hoisted herself up, but tumbled back onto the floor. Giving up any hope of standing, she raised a shaky hand and started to wave it around in circles. “Just gimme here.”

“Are you sure you’re still not drunk, Moira?” Hunkle rolled their eyes again - _anymore and I’ll permanently sprain my eyes,_ they thought crisply. “Let me open this, you’re in no state to do so.” They tried to uncork the vial, but the cork refused to budge. They tried again, but to no avail. Hunkle let out a growl of frustration.

“Here, gimme.” Moira suddenly sat up and grabbed the bottle from Hunkle’s hands. Swaying slightly, they turned around and threw the vial onto the floor, shattering it into pieces. Hunkle rolled their eyes again, muttering something about _melodramatic drunkards_. The crew continued to sleep.

Moira clumsily picked up the note and started to unfurl it. The semi-damp note, dotted with tiny blood stains, was written in impeccably clean cursive that was impossible to read in Moira’s inebriated state. Moira squinted, willing the words to stop floating off the page, and started to read out loud.

“Seven barrels of rum...opened windows...temporarily borrowed...returned later than originally planned...apologize for minor inconveniences...What the hell? This makes no sense! [1]” Moira yelled, shaking the note angrily. “Who the fuck sent this note, anyway?” she muttered as she unfurled the note in its entirety. 

Two shark teeth fell onto the floor.

Moira looked down and screeched.

  
  


On a faraway island, a man in a shark-tooth crown laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] For a full account of the letter, please see [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25435573/chapters/61899325) (link leads to another work on a new page).
> 
> Aaaaand that's it! I can't believe I wrote this, much less finished it. When I first started this, it was supposed to be a lighthearted, small work that introduced the lesser-known crewmembers; it was only until chapter 3 that I realized I was writing something else. I let the story take the lead from there, and I'm glad that I did. I want to say thank you to my wonderful fellow DND campaign members, the DM, and most importantly to the characters that make up Danu's Kin. Thank you Hunkle, thank you Zoe, and most of all, thank you Moira, my beloved problematic child. Thank you for allowing me a glimpse into your world. You can do better, I believe in you.
> 
> Last but not least, thank you readers as well for sticking to the end! I really appreciated it, and the comments too.
> 
> See you next session!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my DND group's pirate campaign and the seemingly endless supply of alcohol on our ship.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always welcome!


End file.
